Another Life: Year Two
by WerewolfDoctor
Summary: Sequel to Another Life. The story of what would have happened if Sirius had escaped Azkaban when Harry was nine and taken him away from the Dursleys. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Harry was back at Grimmauld Place after his first year at Hogwarts. Remus was enjoying getting teach Harry again, especially teaching him things that wouldn't be on the curriculum. At that very moment he was teaching him _Levicorpus_ "Only don't use it in front of Snape," he said, "it was – er – a favourite of James' when he was at school." Harry grinned.

"_Levicorpus_."

"Good." Remus told Harry as he dangled upside-down. "As you can see, it's a fairly simple spell when used verbally, the trick is to use it non-verbally. You do remember how to get me down don't you?" Remus crashed to the floor. "Yes," he muttered. "You do."

"Sorry Moony," Harry said, completely unapologetically, "shall I try non-verbally now?" Remus nodded and Harry thought as loudly as he could '_LEVICORPUS!'_ Nothing happened. Remus tried not to look too relieved.

When they were eating that night talk turned to Sirius and Remus' school days and Sirius started to happily insult Snape. "Y'know Padfoot," said Harry thoughtfully, "Snape can be funny when he wants to be. He's got the whole deadpan sarcastic thing." Sirius snorted,

"Maybe he's grown up enough to not be a complete git to you Harry-"

"Oh he's still a git," said Harry with a grin, "just not a complete one, sort of, a part time git. He's not too bad most of the time."

"Well, exactly," said Sirius, "to me he will always be greasy Sniv-" he caught Remus' look, "_Snape_, the gitwho was obsessed with the Dark Arts and always trying to get us expelled. It goes both ways, I expect that even if I was proved innocent, saved his life, devoted mine to serving him and gave him all my money he would still hate me." Remus nodded sadly.

Harry and Snape, on the other hand, had a curious relationship. Snape had gone to school with Harry's dad and they had hated each other. That hatred had initially been passed from James to Harry himself, but Snape had eventually come to terms with his long-standing grudge. Snape was not Harry's favourite teacher and Harry was far from being Snape's favourite student, but there was a grudging respect which had grown as Harry had shown him to be a little more competent than most of the 'complete dunderheads' Snape (in his own words) had to teach. This had grown when Harry had faced Voldemort. On Harry's part he had found that, if you managed to gain Snape's respect then he would become a very good teacher, however, Snape was very impatient with those who did not meet his exacting standard and cruel to those he considered stupid. He also, as head of Slytherin house, tended to favour the Slytherins, but he had done this less and less after he had had a falling out with Draco Malfoy's father, Lucius.

Harry was very happy to be back with his cobbled together family once more, although he missed Hogwarts. He had, however, become increasingly moody as the holiday wore on. Despite promising to write, he hadn't received one letter from his friends. He was beginning to wonder if he even had friends and now even Sirius and Remus had little success in cheering him up. Harry knew it wasn't fair to take out his hurt and anger on Sirius and Remus, but he had never had friends his own age before, and, as much as he loved Sirius and Remus, there was nothing quite like spending time with his friends.

Harry walked into his bedroom and saw Kreacher on his bed, he was just about to throw him out when he realised it wasn't Kreacher at all, but a different house-elf. "Um – who are you, what are you doing on my bed, and how did you find this house?" asked Harry. The house-elf quivered.

"Dobby, sir Dobby the house-elf, sir. Dobby found the house because house-elves have magic that wizards do not. The house was not protected against house-elves in the same way that it is protected against wizards" said the house-elf in a high-pitched voice.

"I'll have to tell Sirius and Remus about that." Harry muttered, then turned his attention back to Dobby.

"Dobby has come to warn Harry Potter. Dobby … Dobby does not know where to begin …"

"Why don't you sit down?" said Harry, but he knew it was a mistake immediately as Dobby burst into tears.

"Dobby had heard of Harry Potter's greatness, but Dobby did not _know …_ Dobby did not know. To be treated like an _equal_ by a wizard … by a wizard as great as _Harry Potter_ … But this is why Dobby must warn Harry Potter, must save Harry Potter. Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

"What? Of course I've got to go back to Hogwarts."

"No." shouted Dobby in a frightened squeal. "Terrible things are planned. Harry Potter will be in great danger. He is too important to lose, this is why, even if Dobby has to shut his ears in the oven door, Dobby has to warn … to warn Harry Potter. Harry Potter _must not go back_."

"What terrible things?" Harry asked at once. "Who's plotting them?" Dobby broke down and sobbed into Harry's quilt.

"Dobby cannot say. Dobby wishes he could." And quite suddenly Dobby flung himself against the wall yelling "Bad Dobby. Bad Dobby." Harry grabbed him,

"All right, you can't say, I understand, but I've got to go back Dobby, I'm sorry." Dobby wailed,

"Why does Harry Potter want to back when Harry Potter will be in such danger? Why does he want to back when his friends don't care about him? They don't even write to Harry Potter. Bad friends. Bad friends."

"Well I expect they – hang on," Harry paused, "how do _you_ know my friends haven't been writing to me?" Dobby shuffled backwards, cowering.

"Dobby did it for the best … Harry Potter mustn't be angry … Dobby had to iron his fingers for doing it … Dobby thought that if Harry Potter thought his friends didn't like him anymore …"

"_Have you been stopping my letters?_" Dobby guiltily pulled out a bundle of letters,

"Say you won't go back, sir. Say you won't go back and Dobby will give you these letters and won't stop other letters."

"Give me those letters Dobby."

"Harry Potter must swear!"

"Fine," said Harry, "I won't go back, now give me the letters." Dobby gave a wide smile of complete ecstasy and gave Harry the letters. Harry grinned, although he didn't like having to lie to Dobby, he had no intention of keeping his word.

"So it turns out some house-elf called Dobby has been stopping my letters in order to save me from some terrible thing that's going to happen at Hogwarts, except he couldn't tell me what it was. He kept banging his head against the wall anytime he got near to letting something slip." Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You think he was lying to me?" Harry asked.

"Put it this way," Sirius said, leaning forwards, "like you found out, and thanks for telling us, most wizards don't think about house-elves," he looked guilty for a moment, "house-elves have powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's permission. It sounds like Dobby was sent as a joke to stop you going back to Hogwarts. Do you know anyone at school with a grudge against you?"

"Malfoy." Harry said instantly. "He hates me."

"That would fit," said Remus thoughtfully, "house-elves are generally only owned by old, rich wizarding families-"

"Like the Blacks," said Sirius, throwing a dirty look at the house. Remus nodded,

"Like the Blacks and," he said with a significant look, "the Malfoys."

"That makes sense," said Harry, "sounds like exactly the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Anyway, I need to write to Ron and Hermione, tell them I've not been kidnapped or anything."

_Hi Ron,_

_Some mad house-elf was stopping my letters, so I didn't receive any letters and the letters I sent didn't reach you. I'll tell you the whole story when I see you. Want to meet in Diagon Alley?_

_Harry_

Harry sent a very similar letter to Hermione, and one to Hagrid, who had also been worried about him.

Harry met the Weasleys and Hermione in Diagon Alley. Mr Weasley was talking animatedly to Hermione's parents who looked amused and slightly nervous, before they separated to change their muggle money into wizard money, which sent Mr Weasley into raptures of delight. They all separated, Percy muttered vaguely about neading a new quill as he smoothed down his hair. Fred and George had spotted Lee Jordan and they were huddled together, talking in whispers. Mrs Weasley and Ginny were going to a second-hand robe shop. Mr Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink. Harry last heard Mrs Granger asking if wizards had sugar-free drinks.

"We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your school books," said Mrs Weasley, setting off with Ginny. Harry, Ron and Hermione wandered down the winding cobbled street and Harry explained about Dobby, and his suspicions that it was actually a trick by Malfoy. They both agreed that it sounded like something Malfoy would do. They stocked up on various supplies they needed, Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes. They met Fred, George and Lee in Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop who advised Harry on what to buy whilst Hermione rolled her eyes. When they left Fred and George wiped mock tears from their eyes. "They grow up so fast," said Fred.

"Soon we'll be handing him the title of Troublemaker in Chief," agreed George.

An hour later they headed for Flourish and Blotts. A large crowd was gathered outside and Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at each other, surprised. Even when it had been full of Hogwarts student buying their schoolbooks it had never been this crowded before. They soon found out the reason for the crowd as a large sign proclaimed:

_GILDEROY LOCKHEART_

_Will be signing copies of his autobiography_

_MAGICAL ME_

_Today 12.30-4.30 pm_

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!" Harry and Ron grinned at each other. It was no surprise to either of them that Hermione would idolise the person who had written their schoolbooks.

Gilderoy Lockheart was having a good day. His hair was perfect, his teeth were shinier than ever and he was surrounded by people who adored him. There was an ugly little man rushing around, really disturbing the scene, but he was taking photos for the _Daily Prophet_ so Gilderoy tolerated him. He looked up as the ugly little man made a boy angry because the ugly little man stepped on the boy's foot. Gilderoy planned, perhaps, to step in and make the ugly little man apologise, making himself look wonderful at the same time, of course, when he spotted something much more interesting. Harry Potter.

After Gilderoy got over his initial shock he moved with a practised ease. He dived for Harry, grabbed his arm, pulled Harry towards him and posed all in one fluid movement. Gilderoy's only problem was that Harry looked embarrassed and was trying to pull away. _It's such a shame, _he thought,_ so famous and yet not nearly photogenic enough_. Then an amazing thought struck Gilderoy, now would be the perfect time to reveal his little secret. Gilderoy threw his arm around Harry in a friendly, chummy sort of way and his teeth gleamed.

Harry staggered out of Flourish and Blotts, trying to get the feeling back into his arm. "Honestly," he told Ron, "I don't know how I'm going to survive with him as teacher."

"Well look at it this way," said Ron, comfortingly, "that famous curse might come into play and he'll lose all his teeth and go bald. He'd never go out in public again." They both laughed until they heard an all too familiar voice.

"Bet you loved that didn't you, Potter?"

"Bet you wished it was you," retorted Harry and to his great surprise Malfoy went red, or at least, as red as his pale complexion would allow.

"Why would _I_ want to go licking the new teacher's shoes, but _you _Potter, you love getting all the attention you can get, don't you?"

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" came a fierce voice from behind Harry. It was Ginny. Harry wasn't sure whether he or Ginny was more surprised that she had spoken, but he gave her an encouraging smile.

"Potter, you've got yourself a _girlfriend_!" drawled Malfoy. Ginny went scarlet.

"Better than Parkinson the human limpet." Said Harry. Malfoy started to say something when a hand appeared on Draco Malfoy's shoulder. It was his father, Lucius Malfoy.

"Well, well, well – Harry Potter. The legend in flesh." Lucius Malfoy's lip curled as he looked at the Weasleys. He picked a tatty, obviously second hand book out of Ginny's cauldron. "Disgraceful," he sneered and he looked about to say something else when Hagrid appeared behind him. He took one look at Hagrid and dropped Ginny's book back into her cauldron then stormed out of the shop, followed by Draco.

"Thanks Hagrid," said Harry and they wandered back down Diagon Alley together. It was much easier with Hagrid as all they had to do was keep close behind Hagrid as the crowds parted for him.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N – I don't normally like begging for reviews but as my last chapter got no reviews, please, _please_ review. Thanks.

Harry and Ron met up again at King's Cross Station and, as usual, although they had gotten up early to get ready were running late for the train. Mrs Weasley was looking more harassed than ever as she tried to organise all her children and Harry to disappear through the barrier between platforms nine and ten without any Muggles noticing and still get on the train in time. "Percy first," she said, looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed they only had five minutes to get through the barrier and get on the train.

Percy, with a superior look, strode forward and vanished. Mr Weasley went next and Fred and George went after him. They didn't even bothering to do the usual charade of pretending to talk whilst leaning against the wall so they could casually lean through, as they were so short of time.

"I'll take Ginny and you two come right after us," Mrs Weasley told Harry and Ron, grabbing Ginny's hand and setting off, pulling a nervous looking Ginny after her. Harry would have felt sorry for Ginny – he had been extremely nervous the first time he had gone through the barrier, but they were running out of time and he only wished that Mrs Weasley and Ginny would hurry up.

Dobby, who was hiding in a corner and nursing his freshly ironed fingers, couldn't believe his luck. He'd had no idea how he was going to stop Harry Potter getting through the gateway, but as he was the last to go through, along with his red headed friend, it was going to be easier than he had thought possible. Dobby tried to ignore his guilt that went with creatively interpreting his masters' orders. He felt a great deal more guilt at the pain he was going to cause his beloved Harry Potter. "Dobby's got to do it. Dobby's got to do it." He muttered desperately to himself. "Dobby is not a bad house-elf, Dobby does what is right. Harry Potter lied to Dobby when Harry Potter said he promised he would not go back, so Dobby has to. Dobby has to. Sorry Harry Potter." Dobby clicked his fingers and the barrier shut.

"Let's go together, we've only got a minute," Ron said to Harry and Harry nodded. He made sure Hedwig's cage was safely wedged on top of his trunk and wheeled his trolley around to face the barrier. Both walked towards the barrier, gathering speed as they went, eventually breaking into a run until they were almost at the barrier and they squeezed their eyes shut, preparing for –

_CRASH_.

For some reason the gateway had closed itself. They leant against the barrier, pushing as hard as they could without being noticed but it seemed that the barrier was as solid as it looked. They couldn't get through. "What do we do?" asked Ron. "What if Mum and Dad can't get back through to us? Are we trapped?" Harry was thinking quickly.

"Wait here." He told Ron. "I may have an idea, watch my trolley will you?" and with that he rushed out of sight to where a large black dog was waiting. The dog stood up and whined softly, realising something was wrong. Harry knelt down and leant close to it. "Sirius," he whispered, "we can't get through. The barrier's gone solid. What do we do?" Sirius cocked his head, thinking, and then he let out a yip and pointed towards Hedwig with his nose. "Of course," Harry murmured. "Thanks Pads." Sirius looked at him dolefully. "I'll be fine. Dumbledore'll sort it out and I can stay at the Burrow for a bit if I have to." Sirius continued to look at him and Harry sighed. "You know why I can't go back home with you now. I'll write as soon as we get to Hogwarts, I promise." Sirius nudged him affectionately and Harry scratched Sirius behind the ears.

Harry ran back to Ron, glad that Ron hadn't seen him talk to a dog. "W - we send Hedwig with a - a letter," he panted. As out of sight as they could get from the Muggles surrounding them they wrote a hasty letter.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_For some reason we can't get through the gateway to platform nine and three quarters. We're stuck at King's Cross Station. Please help._

_Harry Potter and Ron Weasley_

They let Hedwig out of her cage as discreetly as they could and, as if she sensed it was an emergency, flew as fast as she could. "Well where do we go now? I suppose we could – wait - the car," said Ron, "we could fly the car to school. It would get us there much faster than Hedwig could fly." Harry briefly entertained the idea, but shook his head sadly.

"We've already sent the letter. They'd probably expel us, because it's unnecessary. Reasonable Whatsit For Underage Wizardry or something. Since its not a real emergency, 'cos we've sent Hedwig with the letter." Ron hung his head,

"Yeah. Would've been fun though." Harry nodded, wishing he'd thought of the car before they'd sent Hedwig.

"We'll have to wait in it though," he said, "we can't just wait in the station."

They waited in the car, daring each other to eat the toffees in the glove compartment before Mrs Weasley inevitably returned to find them gone. Harry was just about to take one when she appeared, marching towards them. It was remarkable, Harry thought, how, even though she was a small, plump, kind faced woman, people dived out of her way as she steamrolled towards them, Mr Weasley following in her wake. "You two," she hissed, jabbing her finger at them when she close enough not to be heard, "why aren't you on the train, I've been out of mind with worry. Poor Ginny was almost in tears by the time I managed to get her on the train-"

"But Mum-"

"And here I find lazing around in the car-"

"Mrs Weasley-" Harry tried. It was a bad idea. Mrs Weasley glanced down at Harry's hand. Harry's hand that was holding a toffee.

"EATING. MY. TOFFEES!" She yelled, her face a vicious snarl and Harry doubted there was anyone in the station that hadn't heard her.

"Mrs Weasley," he pleaded and at last Mrs Weasley's face seemed to soften and she seemed less like a sabre-toothed tiger. "Mrs Weasley, the barrier wouldn't let us through, we don't know why. We've sent Hedwig to Hogwarts with a letter and we decided to wait in the car because we didn't know what else to do. And I'm very sorry for thinking about eating your toffee, but I haven't actually eaten any yet. I'll put this one back if you like." Mrs Weasley was beginning to look more like the Mrs Weasley Harry knew.

"Of course you can have a toffee Harry dear. It's just we were so worried. We'll go back to the Burrow, don't worry; they'll still know where to find us. Dumbledore doesn't miss a trick." Mr Weasley drove them to the Burrow and Harry decided it was best if he ate his toffee and didn't speak.

Luckily, they only had to wait in the Burrow until the next morning. Professor Dumbledore himself arrived looking cheerful and slightly bemused. He assured Mrs Weasley that they would be all right and would not be in trouble and regretfully declined her offer of tea and cake, telling her that he really needed to get Harry and Ron to Hogwarts, and get back himself. Then he held out his arm for Harry and Ron to grasp and Apparated them both to his office. "Sir," said Harry, once he had stopped feeling like he was going to be sick, "thanks for coming to get us. Do you know why the barrier wouldn't let us through?"

"It appeared the gateway had been tampered with, though who tampered with it we do not know," he smiled. "Rest assured, we will be investigating further. Now, your timetables," he handed them each their timetables, "I suggest you go to your common room for the moment, you cannot get to morning lessons in time, although I expect you to be in lessons after break."

"So," Harry was saying once they got to the common room, "Dobby the house-elf shows up in my room warning me not to come back to Hogwarts and the gateway won't let me through. Someone clearly doesn't want me here."

"Three guesses who," said Ron, but Harry looked doubtful,

"I know Malfoy could've easily sent Dobby and it would be the sort of thing he'd find funny, but it would take powerful magic to tamper with the barrier. I don't think Malfoy could've done that."

"Malfoy's father then?" Ron suggested,

"Doesn't seem his style somehow," said Harry, "Malfoy's father seems too … slippery. The barrier, it's too obvious. Malfoy's father seems the type to quietly interfere without you even realising he was doing it until you suddenly found that, for some reason, you couldn't go to Hogwarts." Ron nodded,

"You're probably right. It's still odd though."

At that point Hermione burst into the common room "_There_ you are! Where have you _been_? Why weren't you at the feast or in lessons? I've heard the strangest rumours," she looked at them. "Well, obviously you haven't been eaten by the giant squid or been kidnapped by Professor Lockheart _or _run away to Antarctica, so you better tell me what really happened."

"The barrier wouldn't let us through for some reason, Professor Dumbledore said it had been tampered with, so then we sent Hedwig with a letter to Dumbledore and he came to fetch us. We're just trying to figure it out but we're getting nowhere." Said Ron.

"But where it _really_ starts," said Harry, "is when this house-elf called Dobby appeared in my room and warned me not to go back to Hogwarts because terrible things are supposedly going to happen."

"_We_ think," said Ron again, "that it was probably Malfoy who sent Dobby, as a joke, but we don't know about the barrier." Hermione sighed,

"Great," she muttered. "Another mystery, just what I need," she looked at them severely, in a way that was remarkably reminiscent of Professor McGonagall, "I bet you're both loving this aren't you?" Harry and Ron both grinned and Harry raised an eyebrow,

"You love it too," he said knowingly.

"Oh OK," she admitted, "but all we know is that it was probably Malfoy who sent Dobby, but after the train thing it might not have been, since it seems likely that same person who sent Dobby stopped you getting through the barrier. We don't have the slightest clue who stopped you getting through the barrier. We know nothing else, so if you don't mind, I have some work to do."

"Work?" said Ron. "Work? How can she have work already? Mad she is."

"We already knew that Ron." They carried on discussing all that had happened even though, as Hermione had pointed out, they knew nothing.

_Dear Canis and Moony,_

_Told you I'd write as soon as I got to Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore came to the Burrow and picked us up so everything was fine. The really important thing is we now have a new mystery – somebody obviously doesn't want me at Hogwarts so who and why?_

_Any thoughts?_

_Oh, and did you know the Weasley's have a flying car that Mr Weasley charmed? It's a shame because we could have flown it to school, but we probably would have got expelled so it's probably good that we didn't._

_Harry_

_Dear Harry,_

_No idea. There's nothing to do but wait for these 'terrible things' to start happening. Anyway, things are slightly mad as Canis' mother's room 'somehow' got trashed and Kreacher is throwing a fit. Hope things are calmer down your end._

_Moony_

_Dear Harry,_

_Good to hear things are fine for you. Good luck with the new mystery, just do me a favour and wreck Slytherin common room will you?_

_Shame about the car._

_Canis_


	3. Chapter 3

Harry, Ron and Hermione's first lesson was double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. This, they generally agreed, was a good thing as Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors generally got on and they had had very few lessons with the Hufflepuffs before. They left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch where they waved to Hagrid who was treating the cabbages with his flesh eating slug repellent and made their way to the greenhouses where the magical plants were kept. Although Herbology wasn't any of their favourite or best lessons it was generally enjoyable and Professor Sprout was usually good fun.

Professor Sprout at that very moment, however, was not in her usual good mood. She was being accosted by Gilderoy Lockheart who was 'advising' her on how best to treat plants she had been successfully treating for decades. What made it worse was that he obviously had no idea what he was talking about. It didn't matter how large the hints were that she dropped, or even when she told him outright that she didn't want his help, he just wouldn't go away. _Such arrogance,_ she thought when he only laughed lightly when she told him she thought he was an idiot who knew nothing about plants, _really is quite an achievement. I wonder how he does it_. "Gilderoy!" she said in her sternest voice, which, she had to admit, wasn't that stern. "Gilderoy, I have to teach my class now."

"Of course, of course," he said airily, flicking his hair, "doesn't time fly when you're having fun. Do you mind if I walk back up with you? Of course not." He said before she had the chance to reply. They walked together, or at least, at the same speed, until Lockheart spotted something much more interesting. Harry Potter. Lockheart rushed forward and grabbed Harry by the arm, his teeth gleaming brighter than ever and a manic look in his eyes. Professor Sprout felt sorry for Harry because the poor boy looked quite terrified, a feeling she could relate to when it came to Lockheart. She marched forward and said, "I'm sorry Professor, but Potter has Herbology now, your talk will have to wait." Then, when it looked like Lockheart wasn't going to let Harry go, marched Harry to the greenhouse. When they got into the safety of the greenhouse Harry whispered,

"Thanks," and Professor Sprout smiled at him fondly, then strode to the front of the class and explained about Mandrakes.

Harry, Ron and Hermione walked over to a tray where a Hufflepuff boy they knew by sight joined them. "Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said brightly, shaking Harry's hand. "Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter." Ron started to look slightly moody, as he often did when people crowded Harry and took no notice of him, but he cheered up considerably when Justin shook his hand and said, "and you're Ron Weasley of course. I must say, you were awfully brave last year with the Philosopher's Stone, I can't play chess to save my life. Mother is always telling me to practice." He looked downcast for a moment before turning to Hermione and shook her hand as well. "And Hermione Granger, always top of everything." Hermione beamed. "I must say, it's an absolute pleasure to meet you all." Although Justin was somewhat pompous and he took some getting used to, he was very likeable and they got on well as they worked together re-potting the Mandrake seedlings.

They didn't get much of a chance to talk as they had to wear earmuffs to block out the sounds of the Mandrake's cries. By the end of the class Harry, like everybody else, was sweaty, aching and covered in earth. They traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration.

Unfortunately for Harry it was not going to be that easy. They ran into a small boy named Colin Creevy who, among other things, wanted a photo of Harry. That wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't wanted it _signed_. That wouldn't have been so bad either, if more than a little odd and uncomfortable for Harry if Lockheart hadn't heard.

"Ah, young Harry Potter," he said jovially, his turquoise robes billowing out behind him, "I see I gave you the bug when we met in Floursh and Blotts, signed photos eh? You cheeky thing," he said in a way that was obviously meant to be paternal, then he turned to Colin. "How about a double portrait Mr Creevy?" he flung his arm around Harry before he could escape. "And then we'll _both_ sign it, can't say fairer than that can you?" Harry suspected that he could have fried eggs on his cheeks and it only got worse when he heard a loud, sneering voice call out,

"Did I hear right? Potter's giving out signed photos?" It was Draco Malfoy. Luckily for Harry Professor McGonagall appeared and saved him.

"I doubt," said McGonagall, who barely had to raise her voice in order get everyone's attention, "that Potter is handing out signed photos. It's not _his_ style. It seems that the situation has been somewhat … manufactured," she glanced at Lockheart, "by others, perhaps who wish to gain attention themselves. Now, I suggest everyone gets to their lessons before they are late." She turned and led the way to Transfiguration and Harry and Ron grinned at each other. There were times when they had to admire their Head of House. This was one of them.

Their Transfiguration lesson was as difficult as usual. Harry was half looking forward to the end of the lesson as his brain felt like a wrung sponge. He was also half dreading it however, as his next lesson was Defence Against the Dark Arts and Harry was sure a whole hour with Lockheart would be torture.

It was as bad as Harry had feared. Lockheart was even more self obsessed than Harry had realised, setting a test with seventy-three questions all about himself and none about Defence Against the Dark Arts. He was also, Harry realised, quite stupid, and Harry couldn't work out how the vain, simpering idiot before them, who's idea of a lesson was to set pixies free, try and completely fail to control them, then run out of the room as it was wrecked telling his students to clear up after him, could have possible done any of the things in his books. Harry's only explanation was that Lockheart must have lied, but how could he have done that without someone realising? By the end of the lesson even Hermione could not hold him in the same reverence that she had before.

Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Lockheart approaching. Lockheart seemed to consider it his duty to teach Harry how to behave when he was famous, all the time reminding Harry that he wasn't famous _yet_ and needed to work on it as well as rattling off his own achievements. No amount of Harry insisting that he didn't want to be famous seemed to deter him and he would wink roguishly and say "That's what we tell everyone isn't it, eh? Seem even more the hero that way. Good tactic, Harry, good tactic," and give a self-satisfied chuckle. On the plus side, Harry had found a few new secret passageways in his quest to avoid Lockheart.

Harder to avoid was Colin Creevy, who seemed to have memorised Harry's timetable. Nothing seemed to give Coling greater pleasure than to say, "All right, Harry?" six or seven times a day and get a reply, even if it was just a tired grunt. Colin, however, was like a small, nervous and eager puppy and after a while Harry became quite fond of him, if still a little disturbed by Colin's hero worship and still wishing that Colin wouldn't follow him around.

Malfoy was feeling quite pleased with himself. He had managed to persuade his father to buy the Slytherin team new brooms in exchange for a place as Seeker on the team. The old Seeker, now reduced to reserve, had sworn bloody revenge, but Malfoy didn't care about him. All he could think about was Potter's stupid face when Potter saw the new brooms and Malfoy on the team. It was going to be glorious.

They marched onto the pitch, their new brooms glinting in the sun and watched as the Gryffindor team noticed them. They didn't need the pitch _specifically_ at this particular time of course, but they couldn't resist the chance to throw the Gryffindors off the pitch and rub the new brooms in their faces. Malfoy was practically quivering with excitement as they walked onto the Pitch.

Wood ran towards them shouting at Flint and they had to struggle to contain their laughter. "But I booked the pitch!" Wood yelled. "I booked it!" Flint smirked as he revealed their secret weapon.

"Ah," said Flint casually, "but I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. _I, Professor Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch pitch, owing to the need to train their new Seeker._"

"You've got a new Seeker?" asked Wood, sounding unimpressed. "Who?" Malfoy, holding his head up, swaggered forward and enjoyed the looks of shock on the Gryffindor team's faces.

"Malfoy?" said Potter. "They let _you _on the team?" Malfoy was about to answer when Fred or George Weasley said,

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint as the Slytherins begin to smile still more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to Slytherin team." All of them held out their new broomsticks and the Gryffindor team's jaws dropped. "Very latest model. Only came out last month." Flint continued casually, "I believe it outstrips every other broomstick by a considerable amount, _especially_," he said nastily, "the Cleansweeps." He smiled at Fred and George who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives. The Gryffindor team continued to gape until Potter smirked.

"Well Malfoy," he said, "you may have better brooms, but we have better players. We'll see who's laughing when we beat you on _inferior_ brooms." And with that the Gryffindor team turned and walked off the pitch before the Slytherins could answer.

"Excellent Harry," Wood whispered, "we'll prove you need more than a rich father to play Quidditch."

Later that day Harry, Ron and Hermione went to visit Hagrid, since they hadn't seen him yet but as they approached Hagrid's hut the front door opened. It wasn't Hagrid who immerged, but Gilderoy Lockheart, his perfect hair and clothes looking very out of place by Hagrid's ramshackle but homely and inviting hut. Harry dived behind a bush.

"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockheart was saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need any help you know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book – I'm surprised you haven't already got one. I'll sign one tonight and send it over."

"And I'll put it on the fire," they heard Hagrid mutter, "it's the only place it'll do any good." Hermione looked scandalised; destroying books was tantamount to sacrilege in her opinion. Lockheart started to stride towards the castle but he stopped when he saw Ron and Hermione.

"Well hello there," he said loudly and cheerfully, "you don't happen to know where young Harry Potter is do you? Don't worry, he's not in trouble, but I have some advice for him that he might find useful." Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Ron got there before her.

"No idea Professor," he said quickly, "sorry." Hermione looked disappointed, but didn't correct him.

They wandered over to Hagrid's hut. Hagrid gave a loud laugh when he saw where Harry had been hiding and ushered them in quickly in case Lockheart turned back.

"What did Lockheart want with you Hagrid?" Harry asked as he scratched Fang behind the ears.

"Givin' me advice on gettin' Kelpies out of a well," growled Hagrid, "like I don' know. An' bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true I'd eat my kettle." Harry was surprised – it was most unlike Hagrid to insult the Hogwarts teachers, but Harry could see why he was so annoyed. Hagrid had never completed his Hogwarts education and so took great pride in the things he could do, like his gamekeeping duties. Being told how to do his job, especially by an idiot like Lockheart, would seem like a big insult.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore thought he was the best man for the job." Hermione said uncertainly,

"He was the on'y man for the job," said Hagrid, "an' I mean the _on'y_ one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone ter take it. People are startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now." Hagrid offered them some homemade treacle toffee, but they soon regretted taking it as it made their jaws stick together.

"Harry," said Hagrid, as if he had just had a sudden thought, "gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard yeh've been givin' out signed photos, how come I haven' got one?"

Furious, Harry wrenched his teeth apart.

"I have _not_ been giving out signed photos," he said hotly, "if Lockheart's still putting that about-" but then he saw Hagrid was laughing.

"I'm on'y jokin'," he said, "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockheart yeh didn't need ter. Yer more famous than him without tryin'."

"Bet he didn't like that," said Harry, grinning,

"Don' reckon he did." Said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling and checked the coast the clear of Lockheart before Harry, Ron and Hermione left Hagrid's hut to go back up to the castle.


	4. Chapter 4

It was dark by the time Harry, Ron and Hermione walked up to the castle and they were having a friendly argument. Hermione was still reluctant to openly insult Lockheart as he, she maintained, had done amazing things. Harry and Ron had retorted that he had probably made it up, but Hermione insisted that _if _he had made it up, somebody would have noticed, but she did admit that he did seem to be extraordinarily self-obsessed and arrogant, and, she said, as if to say it pained her greatly, he didn't seem to have the slightest clue what he was talking about. Harry and Ron grinned in triumph, before Hermione interjected sternly, just because he didn't _seem_ to have the slightest clue what he was talking about, it was no proof of his intelligence. He might, she maintained, be extremely clever, just an extraordinarily bad teacher.

Then, as they were walking down a dark corridor, Harry heard a voice, a high, cold voice filled with absolute hatred.

"_Come … come to me … I want you … let me rip you … let me tear you … let me taste you …"_

"Do you hear that?" Harry asked,

"Hear what?" said Ron,

"_Let me kill you …"_

"That voice!"

"Harry," said Hermione, looking concerned, "there is no voice." She said, as if trying to will him to see sense.

"_Come to me … come to me …_"

"OK," said Harry, once they were back in the common room and they had checked that no one was listening, "so there's this voice, talking about how it wants to tear, rip and kill people and only I can hear it. Hands up who's creeped out." Both Ron and Hermione raised their hands. Harry sighed, "Or maybe I'm just going mad." Ron and Hermione tried not to look like they thought this was the most likely solution and Ron said, feebly,

"Nah, Harry, you're not going mad. With your track record you've probably uncovered some conspiracy to kill everyone." Without any other clues on the mysterious voice, however, there was nothing they could do but they did agree that it was probably best if Harry didn't go to Madam Pomfrey to check that he wasn't going mad since, as Hermione said, "Even in the wizarding world, hearing voices that no one else can hear isn't a good thing."

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. There was a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students and Madam Pomfrey's Pepperup Potion was being handed out more than ever; it worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterwards. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking peaky, had been bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid red hair gave the impression her whole head was on fire, a fact that had been picked up immediately by Fred and George, although they were quite put out when she only laughed weakly. "It's odd," Fred told Harry and Ron afterwards, "she normally finds that sort of thing funny."

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end, causing the lake to rise and almost flood, and the flowerbeds to turn into muddy streams. It was bitterly cold and wind howled through the towers and turrets and some of the owls, including the Weasley's family owl, Errol, had been banned from delivering post, as they could not cope with the conditions. Hedwig still managed to make it through, though Sirius and Remus had advised Harry to let Hedwig rest and recuperate between trips, which meant that Harry didn't get post as often as he would have liked. Harry had told Sirius and Remus about the mysterious voice, but they didn't have any more ideas about what it might be than Ron and Hermione had. A fact that left Harry worried and confused.

Most people wanted nothing more than to stay in the warm, dry castle. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, much to the annoyance of the rest of the team, though they did not dare voice this opinion in front of Wood. The continued Quidditch practices was why Harry was to be found, late one stormy Sunday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud, feeling particularly miserable.

Even aside from the wind and the rain it hadn't been a happy practice. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen their new brooms in action and reported back. It had not been good news and Fred and George had been unusually sombre. Despite their earlier words, none of the Gryffindor team could see how they could hope to compete with the vastly superior Slytherin brooms, but they were desperate to beat Slytherin. Oliver Wood was growing more and more manic by the day and, when he wasn't calling more and more practices, could be seen poking models of Quidditch pitches with his wand and muttering to himself.

As Harry squelched along the corridor he came across something that could only make his day worse – Mrs Norris, loyal deputy to Filch. Harry set off at a run, if he was quick and lucky he might get away, but if Filch caught one sight of him he would be in detention for sure. Filch hated students getting the castle dirty. Harry darted down the corridor, wishing that he had his Invisibility Cloak on him as he heard Filch wheezing behind him. Harry launched himself into one of the secret passageways he knew, hoping that Filch might not be able to follow him, but he could still hear Filch behind him, slightly quieter, but still there. Panting, Harry raced through the corridors, not daring to look back, until he finally reached the common room. "Wattlebird," he panted and the portrait swung open. Harry grinned as he jumped through the portrait hole; even Filch wouldn't be able to follow him here.

"What's up with you?" asked Ron,

"Filch," replied Harry, still trying to get his breath back. Ron took in his mud splattered clothes and the mud still trailing behind him,

"I can see why," he said, "how was practice?"  
"Terrible. Fred and George have seen the new Slytherin brooms in action. We don't stand a chance." Harry collapsed into an armchair, ignoring the fact he was now getting mud all over the armchair. Ron looked like he didn't know what to say and gingerly sat on the sofa opposite.

"It'll be alright," he said uncertainly, "you're still a better Seeker than Malfoy, you just need to catch the Snitch before he spots it and we'll be fine." Harry nodded wearily. Wood had already told the team they had no chance of loosing as he Wood himself worked himself into panicked hysterics.

As the Halloween Feast approached delicious smells started wafting through the corridors and Harry was tempted to sneak down to the kitchens. Harry knew that the house-elves in the kitchen would give him whatever he wanted, but he wanted to wait until the actual feast to see what the house-elves had in store as he knew that of he waited he would enjoy the feast even more. It was tempting to just slip in every time he walked past the portrait of the fruit bowl though.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were walking through a deserted corridor when Harry heard the disembodied voice again.

"_Rip … tear … kill … feast …_"

It was the same voice, the same high, cold, murderous voice that Harry had heard before and, like before, neither Ron or Hermione seemed to be able to hear it. Harry stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his might.

"Harry, what're you-"

"It's that voice again – shut up a minute"

"… _So hungry … for so long … let me eat …_"

"Listen!" said Harry urgently, and then glanced at Ron and Hermione. "Why am I the only one who can hear this stupid voice?"

"_Kill … time to kill … time to feast … feast on …_" the voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away, moving away, moving upwards. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upwards? Was it some phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn't matter? And _why_ was he the only one who could hear the voice?

"This way," he shouted and he began to run up the stairs, desperately trying to follow the voice. Ron and Hermione followed him, confused, listening for a voice they could not hear.

"Harry, what are we-"

"SHH!"

Harry strained his ears, from the floor above and growing fainter still, he heard. "_I smell blood … I smell blood … I SMELL BLOOD!"_

A thrill of excitement ran through Harry and his heart began to thump. "It's going to kill someone!" Harry yelled as he launched himself up yet another flight of stairs, ignoring Ron and Hermione's bewildered faces as he took the steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps.

Harry hurtled around the whole of the third floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind him. He had lost the voice, yet he was sure that whatever it had been looking for was somewhere on this floor. He searched until, when he was just about to give up, he found something. They had turned the corner into the last, deserted passage. Deep, flickering shadows played on the walls and they saw foot high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED._

_ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE._

"What's that thing – hanging underneath?" said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice as he pointed to a dark shape hanging underneath the message. As they edged nearer Harry almost slipped over: there was a large puddle of water on the floor. Ron and Hermione grabbed him, pulled him up and together they inched towards the message until, all at once, they realised exactly what the dark shape underneath it was.

Mrs Norris, Filch's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was as stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring. It was hard to believe she had ever been alive. For a few seconds they didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here."

"We can't just …" Harry gestured helplessly to the cat, feeling that they had to do _something_ but he had no idea of what they could do.

"There's nothing we can do," said Ron, "c'mon, we'll be in worse trouble if we're found here." And, feeling distinctly cowardly, but helpless, they turned and ran.

By the end of the day everybody knew about Mrs Norris' fate and the threatening message on the wall. Harry, Ron and Hermione were surprised to find out that Mrs Norris had only been petrified, not killed, but the fact that she could not be cured immediately, either by Madam Pomfrey or Professor Dumbledore, worried them. Whatever had attacked Mrs Norris had to be extremely powerful.

There were many theories and opinions about the attack that scurried round the school during the next few days. Harry heard the wildest theories, even one First Year boy telling his friend that Filch was secretly a very powerful Dark Wizard catcher and Mrs Norris had been attacked as a warning. One thing, however, seemed constant: even though most students hated Mrs Norris, few were glad that she had been petrified; the attack had scared the students. It was clear that the only person who could have attacked Mrs Norris was an extremely powerful Dark Wizard. Only Lockheart seemed able to maintain his usually sickening buoyancy.

The only person who seemed to be truly happy about the attack was Draco Malfoy, who was now strutting around the school, his trademark sneer replaced by a triumphant smile. He could be heard saying loudly, his cold eyes alive and his usually pale face flushed, "Enemies of the heir beware! You'll be next Mudbloods!"


	5. Chapter 5

The teachers were bent over Mrs Norris in Lockheart's office, which had been nearest. The tip of Dumbledore's crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs Norris' fur and he was gently prodding and poking her with his long fingers. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, his eyes never leaving Mrs Norris. Filch was sobbing in the corner and seemed unable to look at Mrs Norris. Lockheart was hovering around all of them like a particularly irritating fly, making suggestions.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her," Lockheart said confidently, as if he had not suggested at least ten other possibilities in the last five minutes, "probably the Transmogrifian Torture. I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know exactly the counter-curse that could have saved her …" Filch's sobs grew steadily louder and Lockheart glanced at him, annoyed that anyone would interrupt his story, then looked at Mrs Norris again. "Poor thing." He said, unconvincingly.

Dumbledore, ignoring both Filch and Lockheart, was now muttering under his breath and tapping Mrs Norris with his wand, but nothing happened and she continued to look as if she had been recently stuffed. Dumbledore looked neither worried or frustrated, but continued to study Mrs Norris with a fierce intensity.

" … I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou," Lockheart was saying, seemingly unaware that no one was listening to him, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography. I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets that cleared the matter up at once …"

Snape moved forward out of the shadow and his eyes flickered over to Lockheart with a mixture of disgust, hatred and jealousy. It was common knowledge that Snape wanted the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. He muttered something into Dumbledore's ear, inaudible to anybody else, even McGonagall who was standing nearly as close. Dumbledore nodded, tapped Mrs Norris with his wand once more and gave a small, grim smile.

"She's not dead, Argus," he said softly. Lockheart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.

"N-not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs Norris. "B-but why is sh-she all – all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore calmly,

"Ah! I thought so!" said Lockheart impressively. Snape shot him a look of absolute loathing, which Lockheart didn't notice. Anyone watching the two of them would have feared for Lockheart's future health.

"But how I cannot say …" Dumbledore continued, as if there had been no interruption. Filch continued to sob. "We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made which will revive Mrs Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockheart butted in as he flicked his hair back. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep-"  
"Excuse me," said Snape icily and the temperature of the room dropped by several degrees, "but I believe _I_ am the Potions Master in this school." He left the rest unsaid, but this time Lockheart did catch the hint. He backed away from Snape, stuttering.

"Why, yes, yes of course Severus. I – I was only trying to – to help." Lockheart finished hopefully. Snape's lips thinned and he seemed about to say something to Lockheart before thinking better of it and turning to Professor Dumbledore.

"I shall go speak to Professor Sprout about her Mandrakes." Snape said, before sweeping from the room looking, as always, remarkably like a bat.

Over the next few days the school could talk of nothing but the attack on Mrs Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as if hoping that the attacker might return. Harry had seem him scrubbing the message on the wall with 'Mrs Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover', but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone, which only deepened the mystery, what _had_ the threatening message been written in? The more morbid of the students had assumed it was blood, but blood would have been no match for 'Mrs Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover'. When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors. He would lunge out at unsuspecting students and try to put them in detention for things like 'breathing loudly' and 'looking happy'. Filch seemed to think that one of the students had attacked Mrs Norris and if he could only put enough in detention he would find the one who had done it.

Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs Norris' fate. According to Ron, she was a great cat-lover. Ron tried to assure Ginny that she hadn't really known Mrs Norris and they were better off without her, but this didn't seem to work. Harry couldn't help thinking that there was something other than the attack on Mrs Norris bothering Ginny, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what made him think it, or what could be bothering her if he was right.

The attack also had a dramatic effect on Hermione. It was quite usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time in the library reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. Harry and Ron didn't find out what she was up to until the following Wednesday. They were in the library, desperately trying to finish their History of Magic homework when Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves looking irritable. "_All _the copies of _Hogwarts: A History_ have been taken out," she said, sitting down next to Harry and Ron. "And there's a two week waiting list. I _wish _I hadn't left my copy at home but I couldn't fit it in my trunk."

"Why do you want it?" said Harry. "I thought you knew it off by heart anyway?" Hermione shot Harry a withering look.

"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"So what is it?" asked Harry.

"That's just it. I can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else."

"See," said Ron, nudging Harry, "she doesn't know everything."

_Dear Canis and Moony,_

_Filch's cat, Mrs Norris has been Petrified and was found hanging in a corridor with the words – THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE – written above her. Do either of you know what the 'Chamber of Secrets' is?_

_Harry_

_Dear Harry,_

_Another mystery already? Please don't get involved in this one, or if you do, please don't get yourself too hurt. Please?_

_Anyway._

_The 'Chamber of Secrets' is generally thought to be just a legend, so either somebody is using the name to scare people or it is, of course, not a legend._

_Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four houses are named after them – Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. _

_For a few years the founders worked in harmony together (yes, even Gryffindor and Slytherin) seeking out those who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them and a rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more 'selective' about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed, in short, that magical learning should be kept to all magic families. After a while there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor and Slytherin left the school. This is, as you might've guessed, the basis for the rivalry between the two houses. Reliable historical sources tell us this much and this much we know for a fact._

_The legend says that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber within the castle of which the other founders knew nothing. Slytherin, according to legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the chamber, unleash the horror within, believed to be some sort of monster that the heir alone can control, and use it to purge the school of all those who, in his view, were unworthy to study magic._

_Hope this helps,_

_Canis and Moony_

"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron told Harry and Hermione after they had all read the letter. They were huddled together in the common room as they wondered exactly what the monster could be. "But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn't be in his house of you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I'd've got the train straight back home …" Hermione nodded fervently, but Harry didn't say anything. His stomach had just dropped unpleasantly.

Harry had never told Ron and Hermione that the Sorting Hat had seriously considered putting him in Slytherin. He had half forgotten about it, it hadn't seemed important at the time. Harry tried to nod along with Ron and Hermione, hoping they hadn't noticed his sudden silence. He was immensely grateful when the subject was changed as they wandered out of the common room and found themselves in the same corridor where Mrs Norris had been attacked.

"D'you _really _think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked Hermione.

"I don't know," she said, frowning. "The whole Chamber of Secrets thing seems a bit unlikely. All that one true heir stuff, its all a bit … fairytale. But whatever happened to Mrs Norris, Dumbledore couldn't cure her, and that makes me think that whatever attacked Mrs Norris might not be – well – human."

They walked past an empty chair stood against the wall that was bearing the message '_The Chamber has been opened_'. "That's where Filch has been keeping guard. He's not here right now," Ron muttered.

They looked at each other. The corridor was deserted. Hermione looked dangerously like she was going to say something sensible when Harry glanced at her and said, "Can't hurt to have a poke around," before dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues. Hermione gave a half smile before joining him.

"Scorch marks!" Harry said. "Here – and here-"

"Come and look at this!" said Hermione. "This is funny …" Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing to the topmost pane where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack in the glass.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" said Hermione.

"No," replied Harry, "have you, Ron? Ron?" He looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back and seemed to be fighting the impulse to run. "Ron? What's up?" said Harry.

"I – don't – like – spiders," said Ron, his every muscle tense. Hermione looked like she was trying desperately not to laugh so Harry thought it was best to get off the subject.

"Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."

"It was about here," said Ron, recovering himself enough to walk a few paces past Filch's chair and pointing. "Level with this door." He stood outside the door, but didn't go in.

"Aren't you going to see what's inside?" said Harry.

"_That_," said Ron indignantly, "is the girl's toilet. Can't go in there."

They ventured into Moaning Myrtle's toilet, Ron protesting all the way, and Harry was left to wonder how someone so determinedly miserable could exist. As they exited, however, they received another shock. Percy Weasley was marching towards them, incandescent with rage. "RON!" he bellowed. "That's a _girls_ bathroom!" he gasped. "What were _you_ -?"

"Just having a look around," Ron shrugged. He seemed to be enjoying making Percy angry. "Clues, you know …" Ron stood back to enjoy the expressions passing across Percy's face, before turning and running, Harry and Hermione following. By the time they were out of sight they were all crying with laughter.

In the common room that night Harry, Ron and Hermione chose seats as far as possible from Percy, who kept shooting them suspicious looks. None of them could concentrate on their Charms homework. "Who can it be, though?" Hermione said in a quiet voice. "Who'd _want _all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"

"Let's think," said Ron in mock puzzlement. "Who do we know who thinks all Muggle-borns are scum?"

"If you're talking about Malfoy-"

"Of course I am!" said Ron. "You heard him: '_You'll be next, Mudbloods!'_ He's been practically skipping round the school since Mrs Norris was attacked."

"Malfoy, the heir of Slytherin?" said Hermione skeptically.

"Look at his family," said Harry. "The whole lot of them has been in Slytherin, _and _they've all been pure-blood, he's always boasting about it. They could be Slytherin's descendants. His father's definitely evil enough."

"Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's possible …"

"But how do we prove it?" said Harry darkly.

"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect."

"So," said Ron, impatiently, "what's your idea?"

"What we'd need to do is get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realising it's us." Ron laughed but Harry looked thoughtful.

"We'd need Polyjuice Potion, or something," said Harry. "But that would be impossible."

"Not necessarily," Hermione replied with a smile. "The recipe is in a book called _Moste Potente Potions_, Snape mentioned it a couple of weeks ago_. _It'll be a difficult potion to make and the book is bound to be in the Restricted Section, but it is possible. Think about it, if we're three Slytherins, especially if you two are Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy would probably tell us anything."

"Hard to see why we want the book, really," said Ron slowly, "if we weren't going to try and make one of the potions."

"I think that if we made it sound like we were just interested in the theory we might stand a chance …"

"Oh, come on, no teacher's going to fall for that," said Ron. "They'd have to be really thick." Harry grinned, thinking of their one really stupid teacher.

"Perfect."


	6. Chapter 6

_Dear Moony,_

_In one of Lockheart's books he talks about the Homorphus Charm, which he says cures lycanthropy. I'm pretty sure that if it did exist you'd know about it so he's probably lying, and Lockheart is a complete self-obsessed idiot who doesn't seem to have a clue what he's talking about. I'm pretty sure he's a fake, but if there is the slightest possibility it does exist then you might have a cure._

_Harry_

_Dear Harry,_

_As far I know there is no absolute cure for lycanthropy (and believe me, I've done all the research there is possible to do) so Lockheart's Homorphus Charm as a cure __must__ be made up. It's a shame, but it sounds like you're right – Lockheart is a fake._

_Moony_

After the disastrous episode with the pixies, Lockheart hadn't brought live creatures into the class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, sometimes re-enacting some of the more dramatic bits. He usually used Harry for these re-enactments, much to Harry's annoyance and everybody else's amusement. The most anyone gained from these lessons was if they won the draw, which was run by Fred and George Weasley, on what colour robes Lockheart would wear each day. So far, Harry had won twice.

Harry was paying even less attention than usual in Defence Against the Dark Arts that day because he was preoccupied with what he was planning to do after the lesson. Everything depended on Lockheart signing their permission form to get _Moste Potente Potions_ out of the library. The bell rang and Lockheart got to his feet. "Homework: compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of _Magical Me_ to the author of the best one!" Harry rolled his eyes; Lockheart offered copies of his various books signed in every lesson. Harry had begun to wonder whether there were any Lockheart books in existence that _weren't _signed.

The class began to leave. Harry, Ron and Hermione hung about at the back. "Ready?" Harry muttered.

"Just wait until everybody's gone," said Hermione nervously. "All right …" She approached Lockheart's desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, Harry and Ron behind her.

"Er – Professor Lockheart?" Hermione stammered, exaggerating her usual deference to a teacher in order to play to Lockheart's ego. "I wanted to get this book out of the library, just for a bit of background reading." She held out the piece of paper. "But the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section, so I need a teacher to sign for it – I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in _Gadding with Ghouls _about slow-acting venoms …"

"Ah, _Gadding with Ghouls_!" said Lockheart with a nostalgic air as he took the note from Hermione. "Possibly my very favourite book. You enjoyed it?"  
"Oh yes," said Hermione and Harry had to admire Hermione's ability to memorise books because she then said, "So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea-strainer …"

"Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student in the year a little extra help," said Lockheart warmly, showing off every one of his extraordinarily shiny teeth. He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione.

"So Harry," said Lockheart with the same paternal air that so annoyed Harry; Lockheart was _not_ his father, "tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not?"

"Yes Professor," said Harry, gritting his teeth, "it's been on the notice boards for a while now." Lockheart chuckled and continued.

"I hear you're a useful player, Harry," he said heartily. "I was a Seeker too. I was asked to try for the National Squad, but I preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of Dark Forces. Still, if ever you feel the need for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players …" Harry was biting back a retort as he hurried after Ron and Hermione.

"I don't believe it," he said as the three of them examined the signature on the note. "He didn't even _look_ at the book we wanted."

"That's because he's a brainless git," said Ron.

"He is _not_ a …" said Hermione. Harry and Ron glanced at her. "OK, he is," she conceded, "but it's lucky he is or we'd have never gotten the book."

They half ran towards the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture. Madam Pince did not trust any student, even Hermione, with her precious books and thought that the Hogwarts library was wasted on the students. They presented the signed note to her and she seemed to check for signs of forgery before reluctantly giving them _Moste Potente Potions_. They left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty, as the huge mouldy looking book was stowed carefully in Hermione's bag.

Five minutes later they were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's out-of-order bathroom. Hermione had overridden Ron's objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so they were guaranteed some privacy. "So that must mean we're not in our right minds," Ron said sarcastically over the sobs coming from the next cubicle,

"Ron," Harry replied, "we're planning on sneaking into Slytherin common room to ask Malfoy whether he's getting some huge monster to attack Muggle-borns. No, I don't reckon we _are _in our right minds."

Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored both of them as she opened _Moste Potente Potions _carefully and the three of them bent over the damp spotted pages. "Here it is," said Hermione, as she found the page headed _The Polyjuice Potion_. "This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," said Hermione as they scanned the recipe.

"Never mind that Hermione," said Harry. "Look at the ingredients. We're going to have to steal a load of this stuff from Snape's private stores, look, shredded skin of Boomslang, powdered horn of Bicorn, they're definitely not in the student's cupboard. We're very dead if he ever catches us stealing from him. He'll kill us slowly and painfully."

"We're dead if anyone finds out what we're planning on brewing." Hermione pointed out,

"How comforting," Harry muttered. "How long will it take to make, anyway?"

"Well, as the fluxweed has got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days … I'd say it'd be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients."

"A month?" said Ron. "Malfoy could've attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!"

"I know," said Hermione, "but it's the only plan we've got."

Harry woke early on Saturday morning, nervous about the upcoming Quidditch match. He had never wanted to beat Slytherin so badly. After half an hour of lying in his bed with his insides churning he got up, got dressed, and went down to breakfast early, where he found the rest of the Gryffindor team huddled down one end of the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much. Wood gave him a curt nod as he sat down.

As eleven o'clock approached the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. The team pulled on their scarlet Gryffindor robes, then sat down to listen to Wood's usual pre-match pep talk, but for once he seemed short of words. "We're going to make them rue the day they let that bit of slime buy his way onto their team," he managed finally, then, chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry. "Get that Snitch, Harry," he said fiercely. "Get that Snitch or die trying. You've got to show them a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father."

"So no pressure, Harry," said Fred, winking at him.

As they walked onto the pitch a roar of noise greeted them; there were cheers and boos from the Gryffindors and Slytherins in the crowd, but there was also the crackle of thunder as it started to rain. Flint and Wood shook hands, gripping rather harder than necessary and glaring at each other.

"On my whistle, " said Madam Hooch, "three … two … one …"

The fourteen players rose towards the leaden sky, Harry flying higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch. Malfoy sped underneath him, showing off the speed of his new broom. As the rain pelted down, blurring his vision, Harry grinned. If Malfoy was more concerned with showing off than catching the Snitch, he might have a chance. "All right there, Scarhead?" Malfoy yelled, shooting by him again. Harry had no time to reply. At that very moment a heavy black Bludger came pelting towards him and he swerved to avoid it.

"Close one Harry!" said George with a grin as he streaked past him with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back towards a Slytherin. George gave the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in mid-air and shot straight for Harry again.

No matter what Fred or George did to it, the mad Bludger kept going straight for Harry. Fred and George were now flying so close to Harry he was sure he had no chance of catching the Snitch, but he did catch a glimpse of Malfoy's smirking face. George signalled to Wood for time out.

"What's going on?" said Wood as the Gryffindor team huddled together. "We're being flattened out there."

"Someone's tampered with the Bludger, Oliver," said George angrily. "It won't leave Harry alone. It hasn't gone after anybody else all game."

"That's impossible," said Wood, "the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since last practice. There was nothing wrong with them then …"

"I don't know how they've done it, but somebody's fixed that Bludger," said Fred.

Madam Hooch was walking towards them.

"Listen," said Harry as she came nearer and nearer, "with you two flying around me all the time the only way I'm going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve, and we need to get this game over with as quickly as possible. Go back to the rest of the of the team and let me deal with the rogue Bludger."

"Don't be thick," said Fred. "It'll take your head off." Wood was looking from Harry to the Weasleys.

"Oliver, this is mad," said Alicia Spinnet angrily. "We need to ask for an inquiry-"

"If we have to stop now we'll forfeit the match!" said Harry.

"Fine," said Wood suddenly. "Harry's right, we need to finish this match as quickly as possible. Fred, George, you heard Harry – leave him to deal with the Bludger on his own. Harry, catch that Snitch as soon as possible and try not to get killed in the process." Fred and George looked mutinous but said nothing.

Madam Hooch reached them. "Ready to resume play?" she asked Wood. Wood looked at the determined look on Harry's face and nodded once without saying anything.

The rain was heavier now. On Madam Hooch's whistle Harry kicked hard into the air heard the telltale whoosh of the Bludger behind him. Higher and higher Harry climbed. He looped, spiraled, zigzagged, dived, dodged and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless kept his eyes wide open. He heard, rather than saw that Gryffindor had begun to pull back with Fred and George once again protecting the other players.

He heard the crowd's laughter below him as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. He knew he must look very stupid, but that was the least of his worries. He still hadn't seen the Snitch. He raced around the stadium like he was on some kind of mad rollercoaster ride, squinting through the silver sheets of rain, looking for the telltale spark of gold.

A whistling in Harry's ear told him that the Bludger had just missed him again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction. "Training for the ballet, Potter?" yelled Malfoy as Harry was forced to do a kind of twirl in mid-air to dodge the Bludger, and Harry gave a grim smile. Malfoy was _still_ more interested in teasing him than catching the Snitch. Off Harry fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him and then Harry saw it as he glanced back at Malfoy, _the Golden Snitch._ It was hovering just above Malfoy's left ear – and Malfoy was too busy laughing at Harry to see it.

Harry sped towards Malfoy, his arm outstretched. Malfoy's eyes widened in fear: Malfoy thought Harry was attacking him. "What the-" he gasped, careering out of Harry's way, but in his excitement about seeing the Snitch Harry had forgotten one thing – the Bludger. The Bludger crashed into his outstretched arm as he sped towards the Snitch. Harry barreled on and through the haze of rain and pain Harry dived, one thought lodged firmly in his numb brain. _Get the Snitch_. Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and grasped wildly for the Snitch. He raced forwards, only gripping his broom with his legs as the crowd below him gasped. His fingers closed around the cold, fluttering ball as he finally held the Snitch in his working hand. Harry fell forwards, tumbling out of the sky as he lost control completely.

With a splattering thud Harry hit the ground. He lay in the mud, his arm hanging at a very strange angle. Riddled with pain he heard, as though from a great distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. Harry focused on the struggling Snitch clutched in his good hand. "Aha," he said vaguely, "we've won."

And he fainted.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry came round slowly in the Hospital Wing and realised, as he looked at his blurry surroundings, that somebody had taken his glasses off. He also noticed that he felt strangely lopsided. He tried to move his arm, but found he couldn't, "What happened?" he asked the crowd surrounding his bed, indicating to his useless arm,

"Well," said Fred, struggling to keep the smirk off his face, "Lockheart tried to fix your arm."  
"Oh no," said Harry, grimacing. "What's gone wrong?"

"You don't have any bones in your arm," George told him, and then saw Harry's expression. "Don't worry, Madam Pomfrey can fix it, you'll just have to stay here the night. You're lucky though, she gave you the Skele-Grow while you were unconscious; it tastes foul."

"How do you know? Did you ever lose your bones?" asked Harry,

"Once," replied George with a grin.

"How?"

"Ask no questions, young Harry," said Fred with a lordly air. "Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies."

Harry looked around his bed. All of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were there, and Ron and Hermione. "Great capture, Harry," said Wood who was grinning from ear to ear, and seemed to be resisting the urge to dance with glee, "really spectacular, your best yet, I'd say."

"By far," agreed Ron. "Malfoy's face though, you should have seen it … he looked ready to kill. I saw Flint yelling at him as well. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn't seem too happy; seems having a rich father doesn't fix everything." Ron said with a satisfied smirk.

"I want to know how he fixed that Bludger," said George darkly. The rest of the team and Ron and Hermione muttered in agreement. "Still," he said, brightening up, "_unbelievable_ flying Harry. Catching the Snitch with a broken arm _and_ a mad Bludger after you. They'll be talking about that one for years." Harry grinned.

"You're in here for the night, Harry," said Fred, "so were having the party tomorrow. Madam Pomfrey won't let us have it in here for some strange reason."

Unfortunately, at that point Madam Pomfrey came storming over shouting, "This boy needs rest; he's got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! Out! OUT!" The team murmured in sympathy and shuffled out of the Hospital Wing with Madam Pomfrey herding them as they went. Even Harry, who was now finding it even harder to ignore the stabbing pains in his limp arm now that he had nothing to distract him, had to admit it was funny to watch Madam Pomfrey usher the Gryffindor Quidditch team, most of whom were bigger than her, out of the Hospital Wing.

Hours and hours later, Harry woke suddenly to the pitch-blackness and gave a small yelp of pain: his arm now felt like it was full of large splinters. At first he thought it was the pain that had woken him, but then he realised it was something much more disturbing. With a thrill of horror, he realised that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark and seemed to trying, and failing, to suppress small sniffles.

"Get off!" he said loudly, waving his good arm blindly, and then he realised who was sponging his forehead, "_Dobby!" _he hissed."What are you doing here?" The house-elf's goggling tennis-ball eyes were peering at Harry through the darkness. A single tear was running down his long, pointed nose.

"Harry Potter came back to school," he whispered miserably. "Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Dobby tried so hard. Ah sir, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why didn't Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?"

Harry heaved himself up on his pillows and pushed Dobby's sponge away. "What're you doing here?" he said. "And how did you know I missed the train?" Dobby's lip trembled and he held his hands to his head. Harry was seized by a sudden suspicion. "It was you!" he said slowly. "It was you all along. _You _stopped the barrier letting us through!"

"Indeed yes, sir," said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears flapping. "Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter, he watched and he watched. Dobby sealed the gateway. Dobby had to iron his hands afterwards as punishment-" he showed Harry ten, long, bandaged fingers, "-but Dobby didn't care, sir, for he thought Harry Potter was safe, and _never_ did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way!" He was rocking backwards and forwards, clutching his knees and shaking his head. "Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir …" Harry slumped back on his pillows. He couldn't help but feel sorry for Dobby, despite Dobby's misguided attempts to save him; Dobby seemed to serve a rotten family. Dobby stared at Harry with his bulging eyes and said suddenly, "Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make-"

"_Your _Bludger?" said Harry, his anger rising once more. "What d'you mean, _your _Bludger. _You_ made that Bludger try to kill me? I thought you wanted to save me? Or have you given up on that now?"

"Not kill you, sir, never kill you!" said Dobby, shocked. "Dobby wants to save Harry Potter's life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!"

"Oh is that all?" said Harry, sarcastically. "You _only_ want me so injured that even Madam Pomfrey couldn't fix me. I don't suppose you're going to tell me _why_ you wanted me sent home in pieces?"

"Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!" Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. "If Harry Potter only knew what he means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, us dregs of the magical world!"

"Not all of you," muttered Harry, thinking of Kreacher. Dobby looked shocked,

"You mean to say, sir, that Harry Potter has met house-elves who is _not_ treating Harry Potter like the beacon of hope he is?"

"Yes," Harry replied uncomfortably, now wishing he hadn't mentioned Kreacher.

"B-but Dobby remembers how it was when He Who Must Not Be Named was at the height of his powers, sir!" said Dobby wonderingly. "We house-elves were treated like vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir," he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. "But mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He Who Must No Be Named, so Dobby cannot understand how any house-elf could treat Harry Potter badly, sir." Harry shifted uncomfortably as Dobby's large eyes gazed up at him with a type of hero worship that put Colin Creevy to shame. "Harry Potter is a symbol for all those who feared the dark days would never end, sir … and now, at Hogwarts, terribly things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more-"

Dobby froze, horror-struck, then grabbed Harry's water jug from his bedside table and cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A second later, he crawled back onto the bed, swaying as if he was drunk and muttering, "Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby. Dobby cannot say, even though Dobby knows …"

"So there _is_ a Chamber of Secrets? It's not just a legend?" Harry whispered. "And it's been opened before? _Tell_ me Dobby!" He seized Dobby's bony wrist as Dobby's hand inched towards the water jug again. "But I'm not Muggle-born, how can I be in danger from the Chamber?"

"Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby," stammered the elf, his huge eyes shining in the dark. "Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen. Go home, Harry Potter. Go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, 'tis too dangerous-"

"Who is it, Dobby?" Harry said, keeping a firm hold on Dobby's wrist to stop him hitting himself with the water jug again. "Who's opened it? Who opened it last time?"

"Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!" Dobby squealed as he struggled to get free. "Go home, Harry Potter, go home! Harry Potter must go home!"

For a moment, the briefest moment, Harry considered it. He could go back to Grimmauld Place, live with Sirius and Remus; his family. Remus could still teach him everything he needed to know, but then the moment was over and Harry knew he never could. "I'm not going anywhere!" he said fiercely. "Even if I wanted to leave Hogwarts, which I don't, one of my best friends in Muggle-born, she'll be first in line if the Chamber really has opened-"

"Harry Potter risks his life for his friends," moaned Dobby in a kind of miserable ecstasy. "So noble! So valiant! Harry Potter is a true hero, but he must save himself, he must, he must. Harry Potter is too important. Harry Potter must not-" Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry had heard it too. There were footsteps coming from the passageway outside and low, murmuring voices. "Dobby must go," breathed the elf, terrified. There was a loud crack, a wisp of smoke and Harry's fist was suddenly clenched on thin air. He slumped back, his eyes on the dark doorway to the Hospital Wing as the footsteps drew nearer.

Professor Dumbledore was walking into the Hospital Wing wearing a woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was making what looked like a statue float in front of him with his wand. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, looking more nervous and worried than Harry had ever seen her before. Dumbledore floated the statue gently down onto a bed.

Albus Dumbledore was deep in thought. He had no doubt what this attack meant, that the Chamber had been opened again. He also had little doubt as to who was behind the attacks, but how? And why? All his sources told him that Voldemort was currently hiding deep in the forests of Albania, recovering his strength, so how was he orchestrating these attacks? And, again, why? _Is it revenge Tom? _He thought. _Are you attacking the school because you lost the Stone? You must be weak, Tom, so weak, so why are you expending your energies opening the Chamber? What is there to be gained from this? Fear? Do you aim to make Hogwarts fall? But conquering Hogwarts would be of little use to you when you are still so weak. _ There was, to his mind, no rhyme or reason behind the attacks and his inability to work out the puzzle frustrated him, quite apart from his fear for the pupils and his ignorance as how to stop the attacks.

Dumbledore was so deep in thought that it took him a moment to realise that Professor McGonagall was talking to him.

"What do I do?" she asked.

"Get Madam Pomfrey," whispered Dumbledore before leaning over the statue, muttering to himself. McGonagall hurried past the end of Harry's bed and out of sight. Harry lay quite still, pretending to be asleep. He heard urgent voices, then McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress. He heard a sharp intake of breath. Harry's mind was working quickly; the statue in the Hospital Wing, the urgency. It sounded like there had been another attack; a student this time. His suspicion was soon confirmed as he heard Dumbledore tell Madam Pomfrey, "There has been another attack. Minerva found him on the stairs."

"There was a bunch of grapes next to him," said McGonagall. "We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter."

Harry's stomach dropped suddenly. It couldn't be … Slowly and carefully, he raised himself a few inches so he could look at the statue on the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring face. It was Colin Creevy. His eyes wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera.

"Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes," replied Professor McGonagall. "But I shudder to think … If Albus hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate, who knows what might have …"

The four of them stared at Colin. Harry felt curiously guilty; if Colin hadn't been on his way to visit _him_, he wouldn't be petrified. Harry knew it was stupid to feel guilty; it wasn't like he had attacked Colin, it wasn't even as if he had ever encouraged Colin's hero worship. In fact the opposite was true, he had done his best to discourage it. But the undeniable fact remained, in Harry's mind at least, that if hadn't been for _him_ Colin would not be petrified.

Professor Dumbledore leaned forward over Colin and prised the camera gently out of his rigid grip, then Dumbledore inclined his head, as if to apologise to Colin for taking his camera. "You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" said Professor McGonagall eagerly. Dumbledore didn't answer her but, as gently as he had taken it from Colin, he prised open the back of the camera.

"Good gracious!" said Madam Pomfrey as she stepped back. A jet of steam had hissed out of the camera. Harry, three beds away, caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic. "Melted," said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly, "all melted …"

"What does this _mean_, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked urgently and slightly desperately.

"It means," said Dumbledore gravely, "that the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened again." Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes suddenly wide. Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore in disbelief.

"But Albus … surely …_who?_"

"The question is not _who_," said Dumbledore, his eyes on Colin. "The question is _how_ …"

And from what Harry could see of Professor McGonagall's shadowy face, she didn't understand this any better than he did.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry woke up on Sunday morning to find the Hospital Wing blazing with light and his arm re-boned but very stiff. He sat up quickly and looked over to Colin's bed, but it had been blocked from view by high curtains. Seeing that he was awake, Madam Pomfrey came bustling over with a breakfast tray and began bending and stretching his arms and fingers.

"All in order," she said briskly. "When you have finished eating you may leave." Harry dressed as quickly as he could and hurried off to Gryffindor Tower, desperate to tell Ron and Hermione about Colin and Dobby, but they weren't there. Harry left to look for them, feeling slightly hurt that they weren't interested in whether he had his bones back or not. As Harry passed the library he saw Percy Weasley and had an idea, it wasn't much, but it was better than wandering the castle aimlessly.

Harry headed straight for Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and after making sure that neither Filch nor any of the teachers were around he opened the door. Harry heard Ron and Hermione's voices coming from one of the cubicles. "It's me," he said, closing the door behind him. There was a clunk, a splash and a gasp from within the cubicle and Harry saw the door open slightly and Hermione's eye peer through the gap.

"_Harry!"_ she said. "We thought you were a teacher or something. Come in – how's your arm?"

"Fine," said Harry, squeezing into the cubicle. An old cauldron was perched on the toilet, a small, portable, waterproof fire crackling beneath it.

"We'd've come to meet you, but we decided to get started on the Polyjuice Potion," Ron explained apologetically as Harry, with difficulty, locked the cubicle again. "We've decided this is the safest place to hide it."

Harry started to tell than about Colin, but Hermione interrupted him. "We already know, everybody's talking about it. That's why we decided we better get started-"

"The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better," snarled Ron. "D'you know what I think? I think he was in such a foul temper after the Quidditch match, he took it out on Colin." Harry felt another stab of guilt, but ignored it. He couldn't start feeling guilty over things he couldn't control.

"There's something else," said Harry, watching Hermione tearing bundles of knotgrass and throwing them into the potion. "Dobby came and visited me in the night." Ron and Hermione looked up, amazed. Harry told them everything Dobby had told him – or hadn't told him. Ron and Hermione listened with their mouths open.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened _before_?" said Hermione. "How long ago?"

"Dobby didn't say," said Harry. "He _couldn't_ say, for some reason."

"This settles it," said Ron triumphantly. "Lucius Malfoy must've opened the Chamber when he was at school here and now he's told dear old Draco how to do it. Keeping it in the family, you know," he said sardonically. "I want to know how come nobody's noticed it sneaking around the school though."

Harry wrote to Sirius and Remus, telling them about Colin, Dobby and the mad Bludger. He didn't tell them about their plan, not because he thought they would disapprove, or at least, Sirius wouldn't disapprove, but because talking about it only increased his nerves. He received a reply almost immediately.

_Dear Harry,_

_Well done on catching the Snitch despite the rain and the mad Bludger and the broken arm. At least it's one mystery solved though – It was this house-elf Dobby who stopped you getting to Hogwarts and broke your arm, he sounds about as sane as Kreacher and if he doesn't stop trying to save your life he's going to kill you._

_Anyway, what with the attack it's all looking pretty serious. Unfortunately neither of us have any idea what the monster of Slytherin could be, or where the Chamber might be located._

_Good Luck!_

_Canis and Moony_

The news that Colin Creevy had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the Hospital Wing had spread through the entire school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly thick with rumour, suspicion and a definite note of fear. The First Years were now moving around the school in tight-knit, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.

Ginny Weasley, who sat next to Colin Creevy in Charms, was distraught, but Harry thought that Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking it in turns to cover themselves in fur and boils and jump out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares. Harry made an effort to smile at Ginny every time he saw her, but she usually would only smile weakly back and often did not seem to notice him.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets and other devices that promised to protect the wearer, was sweeping the school. Harry saw, among other things, a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal and a rotting newt-tail.

According to Hermione, the Polyjuice Potion would be ready just before the Christmas holidays, but before then they had to do the thing they had all been dreading – stealing the Bicorn horn and Boomslang skin from Snape's private stores. Harry privately felt he'd rather face Slytherin's legendary monster than have Snape catch him robbing his office. "What we need," said Hermione matter-of-factly, as Thursday afternoon's double Potions lesson loomed nearer, "is a diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape's office and take what we need." Harry and Ron tried not to look nervous. "I think I'd better do the actual stealing," Hermione continued and Harry and Ron relaxed slightly. "My record's cleaner than yours, especially Harry's. So all you need to do is cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so." Harry smiled feebly. Deliberately causing mayhem in Snape's Potions class, although it would undoubtedly be fun, was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye.

Fred and George had their heads together, planning their next escapade when Harry approached them. They liked Harry because he reminded them of themselves when they were Harry's age; he had a knack for making mischief that they admired. "Hey," Harry said, "I need a Filibuster Firework, can you give me one?"

"Before we do," said Fred, "we have to ask what it's for."

Harry smiled grimly. "Potions."

Fred and George's jaws dropped in unison. Even _they_ had never dared set of a firework in Snape's classes. Harry looked at the expression on their faces, "We need some things from Snape's private stores. The firework is for the diversion."

Fred and George stood up and saluted Harry, then George held out his hand and shook Harry's. "Take the firework," he said seriously. "Take the firework and become our Deputy Troublemaker in Chief." Harry grinned.

Thursday afternoon's Potions lesson proceeded in the usual way. Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the fumes making waspish remarks. Snape rarely complimented anybody's work, but his insults were legendary. Harry was a decent enough Potion brewer and so was not often on the receiving end of Snape's sharp tongue, but that afternoon was a different story.

Harry's Swelling Solution was far too runny, but he had his mind on more important things. He was waiting for Hermione's signal, and he hardly listened as Snape paused to sneer at his watery potion. When Snape turned and walked over to Neville, who was trying to hide behind his cauldron, Hermione caught Harry's eye and nodded. Harry ducked swiftly behind his cauldron, pulled one of the Filibuster Fireworks out of his pocket and gave it a quick prod with his wand. The firework began to fizz and splutter. Knowing he had only seconds, Harry straightened up, took aim, and lobbed it into the air. It landed right on target in Malfoy's cauldron.

It was chaos. It took all of Harry's self control to stop himself laughing at the sight of Malfoy, whose nose had swelled like a balloon, or Goyle, whose eyes were like dinner plates. When everybody had taken a swig of the antidote and the various swellings had subsided, Snape swept over the Malfoy's cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework. There was a sudden, fearful hush. "If I ever find out who threw this," Snape whispered, "I shall _make sure_ that person is expelled." Snape was looking at Harry, his eyes narrowed. The bell, which rang ten minutes later, could not have been more welcome.

"He knew it was me," Harry told Ron and Hermione once they were safely hidden in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. "I don't know how, but he knew it was me."

"Snape can't prove it was you," Ron said reassuringly to Harry. "What can he do?"

"Knowing Snape, something extremely slow and painful," said Harry, as the potion frothed and bubbled.

A week later, Harry, Ron and Hermione were walking through the Entrance Hall when they saw a small know of people gathered around the notice-board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.

"They're starting a Duelling Club!" said Seamus. "First meeting tonight."

"Could be fun," Ron said to Harry and Hermione. "Shall we go?"

Harry and Hermione were all for it, so at eight o'clock that evening they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared. "I wonder who will be teaching us?" said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd. "Someone told Flitwick was a duelling champion when he was young, maybe it'll be him."

"As long as it's not-" Harry began, but he ended on a groan; Gilderoy Lockhart had just strode onto the stage, his robes billowing out behind him and was accompanied by none other than Snape.

Lockhart waved his arm for silence and called, "Gather round, gather round. Can you all see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent! Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little Duelling Club, to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions – for full details, see my published works." He flashed his shiniest smile, then gestured towards Snape. "Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," Snape's eyes flashed at being called Lockhart's 'assistant' but Lockhart didn't notice. "He tells me a tiny little bit about duelling himself and his sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry – you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at _him_ like that he'd have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them. "As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast out first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth.

"One … two … three …"

Both of them swung their wands up and over their shoulders. Snape said, almost lazily, '_Expelliarmus!'_ There was a dazzling flash of red light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: he flew backwards off the stage, smashed into the wall and slid down it to sprawl on the floor. Snape looked quietly pleased with himself.

Lockhart climbed unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end. "Well, there you have it!" he said with an attempt at his usual arrogance, which was undermined somewhat by the way he tottered as he climbed back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm – as you see I've lost my wand – ah, thank you Miss Brown. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see …"

It was obvious that Snape _did_ mind Lockheart saying so, because he was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart noticed, because he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me …"

Lockhart matched Harry with Malfoy. Harry saw Snape a little way off, smirking, obviously knowing it was not a good idea but wanting to enjoy the show. "Face your partners," called Lockheart, back on the platform, "and bow!" Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes of each other. "Wands at the ready," shouted Lockheart. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm you opponents – _only_ to disarm them – we don't want any accidents. One … two … three …"

Both Harry and Malfoy had started on 'two', and neither of them had been aiming to disarm. "I'll send you back to your filthy Mudblood mother, Potter," Malfoy spat as he clutched his stomach in pain. The red mist descended. Harry remembered Malfoy calling his mum a Mudblood in their first year; Harry had hexed him then, but now Harry was determined to Malfoy truly regret ever thinking of insulting his mum. Harry hit Malfoy with everything he had, and punched him on the nose to finish off. Snape's eyes flashed with the edge of regret at a long buried memory as he strode over. "_Finite Incantatem,"_ he shouted. "Bulstrode, take Malfoy to the Hospital Wing. Potter, come with me." Harry was breathing heavily. A reckless rage had overtaken Harry and he didn't care what happened to him now, only that he had made Malfoy hurt for what he had called his mum.

Snape and Harry arrived at Snape's office. "Stay here." Snape ordered, then strode out again. Harry stood awkwardly, wondering what was going to happen to him. Harry watched the small snakes they sometimes used in Potions, they were alive, Harry knew, because they had to be fresh.

"Hullo," he said miserably,

"Hello," the snake hissed back. Harry took a step back, this couldn't be happening; he had to be imagining it.

"Can you understand me?" Harry asked,

"Yesss," the snake hissed back,

"Oh this is bad, this is very, very bad," Harry muttered,

"Indeed it is, Potter," said a stern voice behind him. It was Professor McGonagall.


	9. Chapter 9

"Why did you attack Draco Malfoy?" said Professor McGonagall,

"He called my mum a 'filthy Mudblood'" replied Harry, perfectly calm and looking McGonagall straight in the eye, unashamed. McGonagall was silent for a moment and Harry was surprised to see a hint of understanding in her eyes.

"Be that as it may," she said and her voice was no less stern than it had been before, "violence is never the answer to such behaviour. Rest assured that Malfoy will be punished for his use of such language. You should, however, leave the responsibility for punishment with the teachers and, although understandable, your violence will not go unpunished. You will receive a week of detentions with me, fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor and a letter shall be sent to your guardians. Is that understood?"

"Yes Professor," Harry said stiffly.

"Very well, you may go."

It seemed to Harry that all of Gryffindor house was waiting for him when he went back to Gryffindor Tower. "What did Malfoy _do_?" asked Ron in an awed voice. "I've never seen you so angry, and Malfoy's going to be in Hospital Wing for weeks."

"He called my mum a 'filthy mudblood'" replied Harry, sinking into one of the armchairs and staring into the fire.

"He didn't!" said George, shocked. "Even Malfoy wouldn't …" but he left the rest unsaid because Malfoy undeniably _had._

Later, when the common room was nearly empty, Harry told Ron and Hermione about the snake. "It doesn't make any sense though," Harry said, "Parseltongue is meant to be hereditary, right?" Hermione nodded. "But neither of my parents were Parselmouths."

"Um – I don't mean to insult you or anything," said Ron uncertainly, "but how do you know?"

"Well," said Harry, "my mum was Muggle-born so there's no way she could've been a Parselmouth and my dad would have told his friends, the people who are my guardians now, if he was a Parselmouth. And even if he _was_ a Parselmouth and didn't know it, like me, my dad's family have been Gryffindors for generations. Parseltongue is Slytherin's power."

"How do you know your dad would have told his friends?" said Hermione tentatively. "I mean, it's not something you'd really want to own up to, is it?"

"For the same reason I'm telling you," said Harry simply, then sighed. "Look, even if I am Slytherin's heir, or something stupid like that it doesn't really matter. He lived thousands of years ago and I'm Gryffindor. I'm not defined by some ability I've got, or whether I may or may not be related to some twisted old loony. I mean, it's like you said, it's not something I'm about to go shouting about, especially when 'The Heir of Slytherin' is going around attacking Muggle-borns, but it doesn't matter to me either way," he looked at them, for the first time unsure of their reaction. "You won't tell anyone will you? And … you don't mind?" Ron and Hermione both assured him that they didn't think any less of him for it and they wouldn't tell anyone.

Despite his earlier words Harry lay awake for hours that night. Through the gap in the hangings around his four-poster he watched snow start to drift past the tower window and he wondered. _Could_ he be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin? He couldn't help but remember how the Sorting Hat had tried to put him in Slytherin. He had never really wondered why before. _It's not about blood,_ he thought desperately, _it's about choices. Look at Sirius, his family had been pure-blood obsessed Slytherins since forever, but he's the most Gryffindor-ish Gryffindor you could ever meet._ But he couldn't deny that the thought that he might be related to Slytherin, however distantly, disturbed him. And if the Sorting Hat _hadn't_ wanted to put him in Slytherin because he was somehow related to Salazar Slytherin, then why had it wanted to put him in Slytherin? Was he really Slytherin material?

By the next morning the snow that had begun in the night had turned into a blizzard so thick that their Herbology lesson had been cancelled. Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation that she would entrust to no one else; especially now that it was so important that the Mandrakes grew quickly to revive Mrs Norris and Colin. It grew even more urgent when Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick were found petrified.

It was Harry who found them. He'd been walking along a deserted corridor that was particularly dark; a strong, icy draught that was blowing through a loose windowpane had blown out the torches. He could hardly see where he was going and was feeling his way along the wall when he almost tripped over Justin Finch-Fletchley. He had to squint at first to see what he'd almost tripped over, but when he recognised what it was his stomach turned.

Justin was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock and fear on his face, his eyes staring blackly at the ceiling. That wasn't all though; next to Justin was the strangest sight Harry had ever seen. It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly white and transparent but black and smoking, floating immobile and horizontal six inches off the floor. He wore an expression of shock and fear identical to Justin's.

Harry's breathings starting coming fast and shallow and his heart was doing a kind of drum-roll against his ribs. Harry looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor and saw a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies, he couldn't stop to think about this odd behaviour though, he had to get help. Harry ran as fast as he could to the Hospital Wing. "Another … attack," he gasped to Madam Pomfrey and she ran to fetch Professor McGonagall. Harry slumped onto a bed. _It's one thing to petrify a student, _he thought, _but how do you petrify a ghost?_

That was all anybody could about for the next few days, and it turned what had been mere nervousness into a full-blown panic, after all, what terrible power could harm something that was already dead? It was the question everybody was asking and nobody, not even the teachers, or Hermione, had the answer to. Harry, Ron and Hermione weren't as affected by the panic as everybody else because they were confident that they would have a confession out of Malfoy within days. The Polyjuice Potion, Hermione had assured Ron and Harry, was nearly ready.

"We still need a bit of the people you're changing into," Hermione said matter-of-factly, as if she was sending them down the shops for washing powder. "And, obviously, it'll be best if you can get something of Crabbe and Goyle's; they're Malfoy's best friends, well, more like his henchmen really, but that's not the point. Malfoy would tell them anything. And we also need to make sure the real Crabbe and Goyle won't burst in on us while we're interrogating him. I've got it all worked out," she held up two plump chocolate cakes. "I've filled these with a simple sleeping draught. All you need to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them; you know how greedy they are, they're bound to eat them. Once they're asleep pull out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom cupboard. I'll get some spare robes from the laundry, but you'll need to steal Crabbe and Goyle's shoes, your shoes will be much too small once you change."

Harry nodded, trying to hide his nervousness, but Ron said indignantly, "And whose hair are _you_ pulling out?"

"I've already got mine," Hermione said brightly. "Remember Millicent Bulstrode wrestling me at the Duelling Club? She left this on my robes when she was trying to strangle me."

Stage one of the operation went just as smoothly as Hermione had said. Harry and Ron lurked in the deserted Entrance Hall after tea, waiting for Crabbe and Goyle, who had remained alone at Slytherin table, shovelling forth helpings of trifle. Harry had perched the chocolate cakes on the end of the banisters, praying that Crabbe and Goyle were really as stupid and greedy as everybody thought there were. When they spotted Crabbe and Goyle coming out of the Great Hall Harry and Ron quickly hid behind a suit of armour.

"How thick can you get?" whispered Ron ecstatically as Crabbe and Goyle eagerly stuffed the cakes into their mouths. For a moment, both of them chewed greedily with identical looks of triumph on their faces. Then, without the smallest change of expression, they keeled over backwards onto the floor.

Harry levitated Crabbe and Goyle into the cupboard across the hall. Once they were safely stowed among the buckets and mops, Harry yanked out a couple of the bristles that covered Goyle's forehead and Ron pulled out a handful of Crabbe's hairs. They stole their shoes and then, stunned at what they had just done, sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom where Hermione was waiting for them.

Malfoy was strolling the corridors, searching for Crabbe and Goyle. He was annoyed; he had told them to back in the common room and they were still obviously in the Great Hall stuffing their faces. It made him feel sick that _he_, a _Malfoy,_ had to search for them. His annoyance faded when he finally found them. They were being held up by one of the Weasleys, the Prefect.

"I," he heard the Weasel saying, "am a Prefect. Nothing is about to attack _me._" Malfoy almost burst out laughing; the sheer arrogance and delusion, thinking that just because he was a prefect he was invulnerable. Never mind the fact that as a blood traitor the Weasel would be a target. Malfoy controlled himself. It would not do for a Malfoy to be seen as anything less than the perfect example of poise and decorum.

"There you are," he drawled, deliberately talking to Crabbe and Goyle and ignoring Weaselboy. "Have you two been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time?" They nodded guiltily, refusing to meet his eye and Malfoy was pleased to see them suitably contrite. "I've been looking for you; I want to show you something really funny." Malfoy finally glanced witheringly at Weasley the Prefect, proud at his performance. "And what are you doing here, Weasley?" he said with a suitable sneer.

Malfoy hid a grin as Weaselbean exploded with outrage, "You want to show a bit more respect to a school Prefect!" he said. "I don't like your attitude!"

_Esca canis quod is mos iuguolo ipsum.__ Bait the dog and it will kill itself,_ thought Malfoy smugly. It was one of his father's favourite sayings; he had gained a lot by taunting others into making fools of themselves. Malfoy turned and walked away, once again ignoring the stuck up Weasel. 

"It is very odd, Mr Potter, to see you and not have to treat you for anything," said Madam Pomfrey wryly as she gave Hermione a goblet of steaming potion. She hadn't even bothered to ask how Hermione had gotten a cat's face.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll see me soon enough. I always end up here sooner or later," replied Harry brightly. Madam Pomfrey's lips pursed but there was a faint note of amusement in her eyes. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Y'know, that isn't nearly so effective when you've got a furry face," Harry told her. "So, do we have any other suspects?" Harry said quickly before Hermione could reply.

"No," Ron said gloomily, "I was so _sure_ it was Malfoy,"

"So you've said, about a hundred times," replied Harry. "I suppose it was too obvious though, like Snape last year."

Hermione nodded, "The real Heir, wouldn't go about laughing that all the 'mudbloods' might be killed, because they'd be the obvious suspect. Unless the Heir was trying to fool everyone with a double bluff."

Harry and Ron made their way back to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione was still in the Hospital Wing. They were discussing what they were going to do over the Christmas holidays when Harry saw Fred and George sitting in the corner and stopped dead, "What is it?" asked Ron, slightly annoyed that Harry had stopped listening to him.

"We know the Slytherin password," Harry replied slowly. Ron followed his gaze to where the twins were sitting and grinned.

"Hey!" Harry hissed, "Fred! George! We know the password to the Slytherin common room,"

"Are you sure?" asked Fred, but they were already smirking. They trusted Harry.

"Yeah. It's 'pure blood', but you better be quick, they might change it soon,"

"Why would they?" asked Ron,

"Well if Crabbe and Goyle tell anyone they were trapped in a cupboard for an hour Malfoy just _might_ realise that the Crabbe and Goyle he was talking to weren't the real Crabbe and Goyle. Then they'd change the password. So," he said, turning back to Fred and George, "are you going to do anything?"

"Course," said Fred, sounding offended,

"Fireworks?" said George,

"Nah, we've got to do something that'll last a bit longer than that," George nodded, and then turned to Harry and Ron.

"Don't worry you two, we'll come up with something that the school will talk about for years. And it'll all be thanks to you."

A/N – The Latin that Mafoy comes out with isn't a real motto, just something I thought of then put through an Internet translator (so apologies if the translation isn't very good)


	10. Chapter 10

Despite their failure with Malfoy the train ride home was cheerful. The Weasley twins had placed what could be best described as a time bomb in the Slytherin common room; their logic being that there was no point doing anything to the Slytherin common room if most of the Slytherins were going home for the holidays. The bomb, apparently, would make the common room show Gryffindor colours instead of Slytherin's and fire off various jinxes and hexes which would then attach themselves to the surroundings to catch the Slytherins unawares and hopefully still be jinxing and hexing Slytherins into the far future.

Although Ron grumbled about his family Harry knew he was looking forward to seeing his parents and his older brothers again. Hermione had spent a lot of time on a holiday homework planner, but Harry knew that even Hermione would ignore homework in exchange for spending time with her parents. As for him, Harry still remembered the dark days at the Dursleys and couldn't wait to see Sirius and Remus again.

As usual, Remus was standing just out of sight, a large black dog by his side. Harry said goodbye to Ron and Hermione and rushed over, and threw himself around Padfoot's neck. Remus gave a small chuckle and led the way out of the station.

"So," said Sirius once they were at Grimmauld Place, "how's my favourite godson?"

"I'm your only godson Sirius," said Harry with the tired air of someone who has had to explain something extraordinarily simple numerous times. It was an old joke between them.

"And you're my absolute favourite boy in the world," replied Sirius. "But seriously-"

"Are you actually capable of being serious? I never realised. All this time I thought you were just an overgrown five year old," said Harry as he tried to suppress a smile at the mock outraged look on Sirius' face,

"You cheeky little bugger-"

"Alright," Remus interjected wearily, "you can argue later. How are you Harry?"

"Fine. Did you hear about the Chamber of Secrets thing?"

"Yeah we did. Dumbledore's keeping it quiet though,"

Harry hesitated. He wanted to tell them about his sudden ability to speak to snakes. Harry was certain that, like Ron and Hermione, they wouldn't mind, but there was some little voice at the back of his mind reminding him how much Sirius hated his family. How much he hated Dark magic and how much he hated Slytherin. What would Sirius say if Harry told him that he somehow had Slytherin's power? It was stupid, he had had few qualms about telling Ron and Hermione, but he cared so much more about what Remus and Sirius would think. Especially about what Sirius would think.

"What is it Harry?" asked Sirius, who had noticed his dilemma,

"I – I can speak to snakes. I'm a Parselmouth," said Harry as he stared at the floor, nervous despite himself,

"Well I turn into a blood thirsty beast once a month. You've got to do better than that if you think you're going to shock us," Harry looked up and grinned.

The rest of the holiday went smoothly. As usual Remus helped Harry with his homework and Sirius and Remus taught Harry things that definitely weren't on the syllabus. They also spent a large amount of time breaking the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery.

When Christmas came Harry was determined that they would have a proper Christmas dinner for once and managed to persuade Kreacher to cook them one. It was delicious and, unusually for Kreacher, not poisoned or deliberately bad. Harry had managed to persuade Kreacher by being unrelentingly nice to him and, in the end, giving him a portrait of Regulus as a bribe. Harry later decided this was overkill as Kreacher burst into tears, but from that moment on Kreacher became loyal to Harry. Sirius was, at first, disturbed by this but, after a stern talking to from Remus, admitted that it was probably for the best.

Harry woke up Christmas day to a large pile of presents at the bottom of his bed. Remus and Sirius gave him a joint present of an old, battered notebook. Harry recognised the handwriting of Sirius, Remus and his dad in it. They seemed to have taken to inventing their own spells and recording the best of the pranks they had played. Harry stared at it for a few minutes, the writing blurring, before putting it aside carefully and moving on to his other presents. Ron had given him a book called _Flying With The Cannons_, a book of interesting facts about Ron's favourite Quidditch team to which Ron showed a dogged devotion, despite the fact that they had never, within living memory, won a match. Hermione had bought him a luxury eagle-feather quill, which Hedwig had eyed beadily before hooting approvingly. "Good enough for me then," Harry said and Hedwig nibbled his ear affectionately.

The holidays seem to go extraordinarily fast to Harry and before he knew it, it was time to return to Hogwarts and back to classes. Their spirits were kept up by stories of outrage and mayhem from the Slytherins as they were unable to get rid of the Gryffindor colours and various Slytherins kept emerging with donkey's ears, pig's tails, extremely painful boils and various other maladies which Madam Pomfrey dealt with, with her usual efficiency. Harry and Ron felt an inordinate amount of pride at their part in the prank.

In their first lesson back Snape had given them so much homework that Harry thought he was likely to be in the sixth year before he finished it, but he was light-hearted; for the first time he had produced more than merely 'passable' potion in Potions and Harry thought that he might be finally getting the hang of the subject. He was just discussing this possibility with Ron when an angry outburst from the floor above reached their ears. "That's Filch," Harry muttered as they hurried up the stairs and paused, out of sight, listening hard.

"You don't think someone else has been attacked?" said Ron nervously. They stood still, their heads inclined towards Filch's voice, which sounded quite hysterical.

"… even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough to do! It's not like I can just … no, this is the final straw, I'm going to Dumbledore; he can put a stop to this …" His footsteps receded and they heard a distant door slam.

"It's probably just Peeves," said Harry, "Filch is always complaining about him." They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had clearly been manning his usual lookout post: they were once again at the spot where Mrs Norris had been attacked. They saw at a glance what Filch had been shouting about; Moaning Myrtle had flooded her bathroom again and water was still seeping out from under the door.

"_Now_ what's up with her?" said Ron.

"Let's go and see," said Harry and, holding his robes over his ankles, stepped through the water to the door bearing its 'Out of Order' sign.

Ron stared at him for a couple of seconds with increasing incredulity, "You actually _want_ to go an speak to Myrtle? Willingly? Are you mad?" he said but, hitching up his own robes, he followed Harry.

Moaning Myrtle was, if possible, crying louder and harder than ever before in great heaving, dramatic sobs. "What's up, Myrtle?" said Harry, trying to sound cheerful and friendly and trying not to do anything that might offend Myrtle. It was very difficult because Myrtle tended to take offence to the smallest, slightest things.

"Who's that?" said Myrtle tragically. "Come to throw something else at me?"

Harry waded across to her cubicle and said, "Why would I throw something at you?" trying to sound as if the very _thought_ of throwing something at Myrtle was shocking and terrible.

"Don't ask me," spat Myrtle. "Here I am, minding my own business, and somebody thinks it's funny to throw a book at me,"

"Who threw it?" asked Harry.

"_I_ don't know," said Myrtle indignantly, "I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head. It's over there, it got washed out."

Harry and Ron looked under the sink, where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and it sent a tingle up Harry's spine. Harry picked it up and saw that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover told him it was fifty years old. He could just make out the name 'T. M. Riddle' in smudged ink. Harry carefully peeled the wet pages apart. They were completely blank. "He never wrote in it," said Harry, disappointed.

"I wonder who someone wanted to flush it away?" said Ron.

Harry turned to the back cover of the book and saw the printed name of a newsagent's in Vauxhall Road, London. "He must have been Muggle-born, or Half-blood at least," said Harry thoughtfully, "Vauxhall Road is in Muggle London." Harry continued staring at it. Despite the fact it was absolutely blank Harry couldn't help feeling that there was something he was missing.

"Well, it's not much use to you," said Ron. He dropped his voice, "Bet you can't get through Myrtle's nose."

Harry, however, pocketed it.

Harry and Ron showed T. M. Riddle's diary to Hermione, and told her the story of how they had found it, once they got back to the Gryffindor common room. "Oooh, it might have hidden powers," said Hermione enthusiastically as she took the diary from Harry and inspected in closely.

"If it has it's hiding the very well," said Ron grumpily. "Maybe it's shy. I can't see why you don't just chuck it, Harry."

"I wish I knew why someone _did_ try to chuck it," said Harry.

"Maybe they were bored," replied Ron. "Maybe they wanted to annoy Myrtle. It doesn't really matter."

But Harry could tell from the look on Hermione's face that she was thinking what he was thinking. "The Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago," Harry said thoughtfully. "That's what Malfoy said, wasn't it?"

"Yeah …" said Ron slowly.

"And _this diary_ is fifty years old," said Hermione as she tapped it excitedly.

"So you think that _that_ diary would tell us who and what and where and … everything," said Ron sceptically.

"Exactly," said Hermione.

"That's a _brilliant _theory Hermione," said Ron, "with just one tiny little flaw. One really insignificant thing really. _There's nothing written in the diary_. Nothing."

"Oh come on Ron," said Harry, "just because you can't see it, it doesn't mean that there's nothing there. There are all sorts of ways of magically concealing something. We've just got to find the one that this Riddle person used."

Harry turned to Hermione who was already pulling out her wand out of her bag. "It might be invisible ink," she whispered. She tapped the diary three times and said, "_Aparecium!_" Nothing happened. Undaunted, Hermione shoved her hand back into her bag and pulled out appeared to be a bright red eraser, "It's a Revealer," she explained at Harry's questioning look. "I got it in Diagon Alley." Hermione rubbed hard on 'January the first'. Again, nothing happened.

"There's nothing to find in there," said Ron. "Sometimes, when something looks boring and ordinary, it really is boring and ordinary. Riddle just got a diary for Christmas and couldn't be bothered to write in it."

"But somebody wanted to get rid of it," said Harry quietly. "And if it really is so 'boring and ordinary' how come it's survived fifty years? And they're not the only ways of revealing hidden writing. I've … heard of things that need you to say a particular phrase. Like a password."

The diary, with its twisted remnant of a soul, reached out. It could sense him, feel him; the one he most wanted to meet. Harry Potter. The boy … the _baby_ that the foolish girl had spoken of so often. The inexplicable _thing_ that had somehow destroyed _him_. The greatest wizard of all time; Lord Voldemort. The diary reached out and _pulled_. The boy was quickly becoming fascinated by the diary, very soon he would become obsessed, such was the diary's power. If the diary could have smirked it would've. It knew how to seduce people. _Harry Potter_ wouldn't stand a chance … it was only a matter of time now. The boy's curiosity would get the better of him and he would pick up that quill and write. Write and give him life … explain his secret; how a baby, with no extraordinary power could survive the Killing Curse. It was only a matter of time now … only a matter of time.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N So sorry for the long delay in updating, please forgive me! School has been a nightmare and that's been taking up all my time. I'll try to resume a regular update.

Try as he might, Harry couldn't get the diary to present anything more than blank pages and Harry began to think that maybe Ron was right; the diary was nothing more than an empty book. However, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd heard the name T.M. Riddle somewhere before, as though Riddle was a close friend he'd had when he was very small. He kept absent-mindedly picking it up at odd moments and idly thumbing through the diary, even though he _knew _it was empty. Harry couldn't explain, even to himself, what hold it was that the diary had over him.

As they slowly exited winter and the pale sun began to shine on Hogwarts again, the mood inside the castle gradually grew more hopeful. Maybe the Heir, whoever he or she was, had lost their nerve because there had been no more attacks since those on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. Madam Pomfrey had announced that the Mandrakes would soon be ready for preparing and those that had been petrified would be cured.

Lockhart seemed to think that he himself had made the attacks stop and strode about the castle, chest puffed out. Harry overheard him telling Professor McGonagall, who seemed to be only barely restraining her temper, "I don't think you'll have any more trouble, Minerva. After all, this 'Heir' must have known that it was only a matter of time until I caught up with them." Harry had no doubt that the story of the Chamber of Secrets would appear in Lockhart's next book, with Lockhart as the hero.

Something much worse than the Chamber of Secrets was fast approaching Hogwarts, however, and that was Lockhart's 'Valentine's Day Surprise'. The morning of February the fourteenth Harry hurried down to the Great Hall for breakfast, slightly late. He thought, for a moment, that he'd walked through the wrong doors. The walls were covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, never ending, heart shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. Harry walked as fast as he could to the Gryffindor table and sat down beside a sickened looking Ron. At the teacher's table Lockhart stood up and spread his arms, "Happy Valentine's Day!" he shouted. "I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all, and it doesn't end here!" Lockhart clapped his hands and a dozen surly looking dwarves marched through the Entrance Hall. Not just any dwarves however, Lockhart had them wearing gold wings and carrying harps. Harry desperately wanted to laugh but felt that it would be best not to provoke the dwarves. They were glaring as if daring anyone to question their attire.

"My friendly, card carrying, cupids," beamed Lockhart, seemingly unaware of the air of amused disbelief that was washing around the Great Hall at the word 'friendly'. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your Valentines! And the fun doesn't stop there! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter the sprit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! Or ask Professor Flitwick a thing or two about Entrancing Enchantments! I'm sure he knows much more than he lets on, the old dog!"

Professor Flitwick buried his head in his hands and Harry was surprised that Lockhart was still standing since the glare that Snape was currently sending him would have levelled a full grown mountain troll. Fortunately, Lockhart soon stopped talking and sat down, allowing them to eat.

All day long, the dwarves kept barging into classes and stopping students in corridors to deliver Valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers, except Professor Binns, their History of Magic teacher, who didn't seem to notice his class being interrupted. Somebody, and Harry suspected the Weasley twins, had even sent a musical Valentine to Snape, who had promised to personally assure that the one responsible would be expelled. Late that afternoon, however, as the Gryffindors walking up for Charms, one of the dwarves caught up with Harry.

"Oy! You!" Shouted a particularly grim looking dwarf as it elbowed students out of the way to get to Harry. "'Arry Potter! C'mere!" Hot all over at the thought of being given a Valentine in front of a queue of First Years, which happened to include Ginny Weasley, Harry tried desperately to escape. Unfortunately, the dwarf reached him before he'd managed to get two paces.

"I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter in person," he said, twanging his hap in a threatening sort of way.

"_Not here,_" Harry hissed, trying to ignore the stares.

"Stay _still_," grunted the dwarf as he grabbed hold of Harry's bag and pulled him back.

"Let me _go!_" Harry snarled, tugging.

With a loud ripping noise his bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment and quill spilled onto the floor, his ink bottle smashing over the lot. Harry scrambled, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started to sing. He stuffed his things into his ripped bag, before muttering "_Reparo,"_

"What's going on here?" came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. Harry's attempts to get away became all the more desperate before Malfoy, of all people, could hear his musical Valentine.

"What's all this commotion?" came another familiar voice as Percy Weasley came into view. Losing his head, Harry tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the ground.

"Right," the dwarf said matter-of-factly as he sat on Harry's chest to stop him escaping, "here is your singing Valentine:

_His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,  
His hair is as dark as a blackboard.  
I with he was mine, he's really divine,  
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord._"

Trying desperately to laugh along with everybody else, which proved painful, as the dwarf had squashed all the air out of him. He got up slowly as Percy Weasley tried to disperse the crowd. "Off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now," he said, as he attempted to shoo the students along, some of who were crying with mirth. "_And_ you, Malfoy," Harry glanced over and saw Malfoy stoop to pick something up. Leering, he leaned back to show it to Crabbe and Goyle. An inexplicable feeling of dread washed over Harry as he realised it was Riddle's diary.

"Give that back," Harry said quietly,

"Don't think I want to," Malfoy replied, sneering. He waved the diary tauntingly at Harry as a hush fell over the onlookers. Ginny was looking from the diary to Harry with a look of terror on her face.

"Hand it over, Malfoy," said Percy pompously,

"When I've had a look," replied Malfoy, grinning. Percy puffed himself up indignantly,

"As school prefect-", Percy began, but Harry had had enough. He pulled out his wand and disarmed Malfoy. Malfoy found the diary shooting out of his hand and into the air, Ron, grinning broadly, caught it. "Harry!" Percy shouted. "No magic in the corridors! I'll have to report this!"

But Harry didn't care, he'd got one over on Malfoy and that was worth five points from Gryffindor any day. Malfoy was looking furious, and as Ginny passed him to enter her classroom he yelled spitefully, "I don't think Potter liked your Valentine much, Weasley!" Ginny covered her face with hands and ran into class. Snarling, Ron pulled out his own wand, but since Harry already his out he had already hexed Malfoy, causing his face to sprout tentacles. Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles menacingly, but they turned to follow Malfoy who had to go to the Hospital Wing.

It wasn't until they finally reached Professor Flitwick's class (loosing a further five points for lateness in the process) that Harry noticed something odd about Riddle's diary. All his other books were drenched in ink from the smashed bottle, although Professor Flitwick, who became immediately sympathetic when he heard that it was Lockhart's Valentines dwarfs who were to blame, was able to clean it up with a charm. The diary, however, was as clean as it had been before the ink bottle had smashed over it. Even Ron agreed that this was a sign that the diary contained _some_ kind of magical powers, but they still had no idea of how to get the diary to reveal what they were.

Eventually, Harry found out the key to unlocking the diary's secrets. It was frustrating, in a way; having tried all manner of charms, enchantments and magical devices Harry decided, on a frustrated whim, to write in it.

And the diary wrote back.

The diary would've, it had had enough feeling left to do so, celebrated. It had finally succeeded in ensnaring the Potter boy. It was so close … so close now, it could almost _feel_ it. It would have real life once more and the boy would reveal his secret.

Even though they had an answer, Harry, Ron and Hermione were now faced with an even greater quandary. They had been given convincing evidence that Hagrid, their friend, was the Heir of Slytherin. It sounded ridiculous to even say the phrase out loud. But, even though they were sure that Hagrid would never deliberately hurt someone, they couldn't deny that he did have an unfortunate liking for 'pets' that had the ability to rip a man to pieces.

Harry half wished he had never learned out how to work Riddle's diary. He was heartily sick of the long, circular conversations. He almost knew the back and forth arguments by heart and he stopped participating in them all together after a while. Harry had written to Sirius and Remus about what he had found out. Sirius had outright rejected Riddle's evidence, immediately insisting that Riddle must have framed Hagrid. Remus was more level headed, pointing out that the attacks must have stopped after Hagrid's expulsion, but also pointing out that Dumbledore must have known, or at least suspected, something, since it was he who insisted that Hagrid be allowed to stay on as Gamekeeper.

In the end, Harry, Ron and Hermione decided that they wouldn't say anything to Hagrid unless there was another attack, and as more and more days went by with no whisper from the disembodied voice, they became hopeful that they would never need to talk to him about why he had been expelled. It was now nearly four months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been petrified and nearly everyone seemed to think that the attacker had retired for good.


	12. Chapter 12

In the Easter holidays the Second Years were given something new to think about. The time had come for them to choose their subjects for Third Year, a matter that, Hermione at least, took very seriously. "It could affect our whole future," said Hermione, wringing her hands as she stared at the list of possible subjects in front of her.

"I just want to give up Defence," said Harry gloomily,

"But that's your favourite subject!" replied Hermione, scandalised. "And it's really important,

"Not the way Lockhart teaches it. The only way I've been learning this year is through my letters with Canis and Moony. All I've learnt from Lockhart is not to set pixies loose, and I _think_ I could've figured that one out on my own."

"Don't worry," said Ron cheerfully, "The curse'll come into play. We'll get a new Defence teacher by next year." Hermione looked disapproving, but said nothing.

Harry, like all the students from wizarding families, had received advice by owl. Remus had written that it was best to play to his strengths, and assured him that his best subjects were Defence Against the Dark Arts, followed by Charms and Transfiguration. Since he was already taking these, it didn't matter that much what else he took, but suggested that Care of Magical Creatures was always fun. Sirius had written that, whatever he did, the most important thing was to make sure he enjoyed himself. In the end Harry took both their advice and signed up for the same classes as Ron, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. Hermione took nobody's advice but signed up for everything, ignoring Harry and Ron when they tried to convince her it would be impossible.

Over the next few weeks Harry barely had any time for anything other than class, homework and Quidditch because Oliver Wood, the Quidditch Captain was training them so hard. The training sessions were getting better, or at least drier, and a few days before Saturday's match against Hufflepuff he went up to the dormitory to drop of his broomstick, feeling that Gryffindor's chances for the Quidditch Cup had never been better.

But his cheerful mood didn't last long. At the top of the stairs to the dormitory he met Neville Longbottom, who looked frantic. "Harry – I don't know who did it – nobody does – I just found-" Watching Harry fearfully, Neville pushed open the door to the dormitory. It was chaos. The contents of Harry's trunk had been thrown everywhere. His cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been ripped off his four-poster and the drawer had been pulled out of his bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress.

Harry walked over to the bed, open-mouthed. As he and Neville pulled the blankets back onto the bed, Ron, Seamus and Dean came in. Dean swore loudly.

"What happened Harry?"

No idea," replied Harry, but Ron was examining Harry's robes. All the pockets were hanging out.

"Someone's been looking for something," said Ron. "Is there anything missing, Harry?"

Harry started to pick up all his things and throw them into his trunk, muttering under his breath. Finally he realised what was missing. "Riddle's diary's gone," he said to Ron in an undertone.

"_What?_" Harry jerked his head towards the dormitory door and Ron followed him out. They hurried back down to the common room, which was half empty, and joined Hermione who was reading an imposing looking book called _Ancient Runes Made Easy_. They told her, in hurried whispers, what had happened.

"But that's – only a Gryffindor could've stolen – nobody else knows our password … or where the tower is."

"Exactly," said Harry.

Harry wrote to Sirius and Remus about what had happened as soon as he could. Remus advised him not to panic, but to be extra cautious. He also gave him a simple charm that would help protect his belongings. Sirius, on the other hand, was slightly more extreme,

_This is grave news,_ he wrote,_ someone has broken the sacred bonds of fellowship and house loyalty in this act. There is a traitor in your mist. Be on your guard. Trust no one and treat everyone as a suspect._

_Canis_

Over the next few days Harry founding himself constantly wondering whether the new owner of Riddle's diary was sitting right before his eyes. Hermione had been had been urging him report the robbery, but Harry didn't like the idea. He'd have to tell a teacher all about the diary and how many people knew Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago?

The day of the Quidditch match came. There was brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze. "Perfect Quidditch conditions," said Wood, who was practically bouncing as he loaded his team's plates up with food. "C'mon, all of you, you need a decent breakfast."

As Harry left the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione to go and collect his Quidditch things, another, very serious worry was added to Harry's growing list. He had just set foot on the marble staircase when he heard the disembodied voice yet again: "_Kill … kill this time … let me rip … let me tear … let me taste … flesh_ …" He shouted aloud and Ron and Hermione jumped away from him in alarm.

"The voice!" said Harry, looking over his shoulder. "I just heard it again, didn't you?"

Ron shook his head, wide eyed. Hermione, however, clapped a hand to her forehead.

"Harry – I think I've just understood something! You're the only one who can hear the voice! Of course! I've got to go to the library!"

And she sprinted away, up the stairs.

"_What_ does she understand?" said Harry,

"Loads more than I do," said Ron, shaking his head.

"But why's she got to go to the library?"

"Because that's what Hermione does," replied Ron matter-of-factly. "When in doubt, consult a book."

Harry stood for a moment, trying to catch the voice again, but people were now emerging from the Great Hall, talking loudly. "You'd better get moving," said Ron. "It's nearly eleven, you'll be late for the match." Harry raced up to Gryffindor Tower, collected his Nimbus Two Thousand and joined the large crowd swarming towards the grounds, but his mind was still in the castle, along with the bodiless voice.

The teams walked onto the pitch to tumultuous applause. Gryffindor took off for a warm up flight as the Hufflepuffs stood in a canary yellow huddle, having a last minute discussion of tactics. Harry was just beginning to relax and enjoy flying when Professor McGonagall came half marching, half running onto the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone.

Harry's heart dropped like a stone.

"This match has been cancelled," Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. There were boos and shouts, Wood looked devastated. Harry's mind was racing, _There couldn't have been another attack,_ he thought desperately, _everybody was at the match … except …_ Harry dived towards the ground as fast as he could. Professor McGonagall continued to shout through her megaphone, ignoring the load protests from Wood, "All students will make their way back to their common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can please!"

Then McGonagall lowered her megaphone and beckoned Harry over to her. "Potter, I think you'd better come with me …" Wondering gloomily how she could possibly suspect him this time, Harry followed McGonagall. He saw Ron detach himself from the complaining crowd and come running up to them as they set off to the castle. To Harry's surprise, Professor McGonagall didn't object. "Yes," she said, almost absently. "Perhaps you better come too, Weasley."

Some of the students they passed were still grumbling, but others looked worried. Quidditch was taken very seriously in the wizarding world and tended only to be cancelled in the direst of circumstances. Harry and Ron glanced at each other in confusion as they followed Professor McGonagall; they didn't seem to be being taken to anybody's office.

"This will come as something of a shock to you both," said Professor McGonagall in an uncharacteristically gentle voice as they approached the Hospital Wing. "There has been another attack … another _double_ attack." Harry's insides did a horrible somersault. On one bed was a fifth year Ravenclaw girl with curly hair. On the bed next to her was-

"_Hermione!"_ Ron groaned. Hermione lay utterly still, her eyes glassy and unseeing.

"They were found near the library," said Professor McGonagall. "I don't suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them…" She held up a small, circular mirror. Harry and Ron shook their heads.

"She – she said she'd figured something out," said Harry, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Said she had to go to the library."

"The attack is especially unfortunate then," said Professor McGonagall in an undertone. Then she addressed Ron and Harry directly again. "I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower," she said heavily. "I need to address the students in any case."

"All students will return to their house common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. A teacher will escort you to each lesson. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. There will be no more evening activities. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed."

The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment from which she had been reading. Harry idly noted that even Wood didn't object to the postponement of Quidditch. "I need hardly say," continued Professor McGonagall in a somewhat choked voice, "that if the culprit is not caught and the attacks are not stopped then it is likely that the school will be closed. I would urge anybody who thinks that they might have some information to come forward. That is all."

She somewhat awkwardly climbed out the portrait hole. The Gryffindors began talking immediately. "That's two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one Ravenclaw and one Hufflepuff," roared the Weasley twin's friend, Lee Jordan over the mutterings of the crowd. "Haven't _any_ of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all safe? Isn't _obvious_ this stuff's coming from Slytherin? The _heir _of the Slytherin, the _monster_ of Slytherin – why don't they just chuck all the Slytherin's out?" There were a few nods and scattered applause, but little real enthusiasm for what Lee said.

Harry grimaced; he was pretty certain that the whole situation was a lot more complex than 'Slytherins are evil'. For one, Harry was sure that the Chamber business had something to do with the theft of Riddle's diary and since it was almost certain that it was a Gryffindor that had stolen it then pointed the finger of blame towards a Gryffindor. Besides, even if it were a Slytherin opening the Chamber, chucking out the whole lot would hardly be fair. Harry was in no mood to start an argument, however, partly because he was relieved that he was no longer the chief suspect and partly because he had more important things on his mind.

Harry couldn't get the image of Hermione lying in the hospital bed as though carved from stone out of his mind. He couldn't just sitting there and doing nothing. Harry looked over to Ron and he knew they were both thinking the same thing. They had to talk to Hagrid.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry, being the son of one Marauder and the godson of another, had no problem with breaking rules. He, often accompanied by Ron and occasionally Hermione, had spent a lot of time sneaking out after dark, with the help of his dad's old Invisibility Cloak. The new security measures, however, meant that even with the cloak sneaking out would be hard. But Harry knew that he had to do _something_ or he would go mad.

The journey through the cold dark castle corridors wasn't enjoyable. Harry had never seen it so crowded after sunset. Teachers, Prefects and ghosts were marching, or floating, around in pairs. Their expressions were stony and serious as they searched for any unusual activity, and the Invisibility Cloak didn't stop them from making any noise. They were almost caught when Ron stubbed his toe. Snape tensed, his eyes darted round like a great hawk and he raised his wand. Harry had no doubt that Snape had ways of detecting whether they were there, invisible or not and they ran, as silently as they could. Luckily, they escaped.

It was a clear, starry night. They hurried towards the lightened windows of Hagrid's house, and pulled off the Cloak only when they were right outside the front door. Seconds after they had knocked Hagrid flung the front door open looking as wild and dangerous as he was sometimes made out to be. He was aiming a crossbow right at them and Fang the boarhound was barking loudly behind him. It was an intimidating sight. "Oh," he said, lowering the weapon and staring at them. "What're you two doin' here?"

"What's that for?" replied Harry, pointing at the crossbow as they stepped inside.

"Nothin' … nothin'," Hagrid muttered absently. "I've bin expectin' … don't matter … Sit down … I'll make tea …" But his hands were shaking so badly that he was hardly able to pour the water and Harry stopped him before he broke something.

"Are you OK, Hagrid?" asked Harry. "Did you hear about Hermione?"

"Oh … oh yeah, I heard all righ'," said Hagrid, a slight break in his voice. He kept glancing nervously out the windows. Harry and Ron were just glancing at each other, trying to decide what to say when there was a knock at the door. As fast as they could they threw the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves and retreated into a corner. Hagrid made sure they were properly hidden before picking up his crossbow and flinging open the door once more.

"Good evening, Hagrid."

There was a loud crash as Hagrid dropped his crossbow and Dumbledore entered, looking deadly serious. A short, portly man that Harry recognised as Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, followed him. He was a twirling a lime green bowler hat. Harry was suddenly struck by the strange worry that, if Fudge were to loose control of the hat, and the hat went flying into their corner of the small hut where it would, inevitably, hit seemingly thin air, they would be discovered. He forced himself to concentrate.

Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his chairs and looked from Dumbledore to Fudge. "Bad business, Hagrid," said Fudge in clipped tones. "Very bad business. Had to come down. Four attacks on Muggle-borns and, if I understand correctly, one cat. Things have gone far enough. The Ministry has got to act."

"I never," said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore, "you know I never. Professor Dumbledore, sir …"

"I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence," said Dumbledore sternly, frowning at Fudge.

"Look, Albus," said Fudge uncomfortably. "Hagrid's record's against him. Ministry's got to do something – the school governors have been in touch."

"Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest," said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were full of a fire that Harry had never seen before.

"Look at it from my point of view," said Fudge, fidgeting, "I'm under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn't Hagrid then he'll be back and no more said. But I've got to take him. Got to. Wouldn't be doing my duty if I didn't-"

"Take me?" said Hagrid, who was trembling. "Take me where? Not…"

"For a short stretch only," said Fudge, not meeting Hagrid's eyes. "Not as a punishment, you understand, just as a precaution. If someone else is caught you'll be let out with a full apology."

"Not Azkaban?" croaked Hagrid. Harry clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palm, to stop himself yelling at the injustice. It was just like with Sirius. Ron glanced at him, worried. Before Fudge could answer there was another loud rap on the door. Dumbledore answered it. Lucius Malfoy strode into the crowded hut, swathed in a long, black travelling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile, his grey eyes glinting. Fang started to growl.

"Already here Fudge," he drawled approvingly. "Good, good …"

"What're you doin' here?" growled Hagrid furiously. "Get outta my house!"  
"My dear man," said Malfoy with an air wounded innocence, "believe me, I take no pleasure being inside your," he paused, allowing his lip to curl slightly, "'house'. I simply called at the school and was told that the headmaster was here."

"And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?" said Dumbledore pleasantly, but his blue eyes still blazed with the same intense fire.

"_Dreadful_ thing, Dumbledore," said Malfoy lazily, taking out a long roll of parchment, but the governors feel that it's time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension. You'll find all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel that you've rather lost your touch. How many attacks have their been now? And two more this afternoon. At this rate there'll be no more Muggle-borns left, and we all know what an _awful_ loss that would be to the school."

"Now, now, see here, Lucius," said Fudge, looking alarmed, "Dumbledore suspended … no … no … that's the last thing we want just now …"

"The appointment – or suspension of the Headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge," said Malfoy smoothly. "And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks …"

"Now look, Lucius, be reasonable … I mean, if _Dumbledore_ can't stop these attacks then who can?" said Fudge.

"That remains to be seen," said Malfoy with a nasty smile. "But as all twelve of us have voted …"

Malfoy left the sentence hanging. Hagrid leapt to his feet, "An' how many did yeh have ter threaten' an' blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy?" he roared.

"Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours is going to get you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid. I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won't like it at all," said Malfoy as he barely repressed a smirk.

"Yeh can' take Dumbledore," Hagrid yelled, making Fang cower and whimper in his basket. "Take him away, an' the Muggle-borns won' stand a chance! There'll be killin's next!"

"Calm yourself Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sharply. He looked at Lucius Malfoy, and Harry, who had been on the receiving end of that sharp, blue gaze more than once, felt strangely reassured that this was not a defeat. "If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside,"

"_But-_" stuttered Fudge.

"No," growled Hagrid.

Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Malfoy's cold grey ones. "However," Dumbledore continued as if there had been no interruption, "you will find that I have only _truly_ left the school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it." Harry could have sworn that Dumbledore's eyes flickered to the corner in which he and Ron were hidden.

"Admirable sentiments," said Malfoy, bowing. "We shall all miss your highly _individual_ way of running things, Albus, and only hope that your successor will manage to prevent any – ah – _killin's_." He strode to the cabin door, opened it and bowed Dumbledore out. Fudge, fiddling with his bowler hat, waited for Hagrid to go ahead of him, but Hagrid stood his ground, took a deep breath and said carefully, "If anybody wanted to find out some _stuff_ all they'd have ter do is follow the spiders. That'd lead 'em right! That's all I'm sayin'." Fudge stared at him in amazement. "All righ', all righ', I'm comin'," said Hagrid as he pulled on his moleskin overcoat. But as he was about to follow Fudge through the door he stopped again and said loudly, "An' someone's goin' ter have ter feed Fand while I'm away."

The door banged shut. Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, "Oh that's great," he said viciously. "People might die and all Lucius Malfoy cares about is his stupid little power games. Getting rid of Dumbledore! They might as well close the school tonight. And Fudge, don't get me started on Fudge. There's no proof it was Hagrid opening the Chamber, but he sends him to Azkaban _because he has to be seen to be doing something_. Do you know what Azkaban does to people? It destroys them, but Fudge will put Hagrid through all that because he only cares about how things appear." Ron didn't reply, but nodded grimly as Fang howled and scratched at the cabin door.


	14. Chapter 14

Summer was sweeping over the grounds around the castle; sky and lake alike turned periwinkle blue and flowers large as cabbages burst into bloom in the greenhouse. But with no Hagrid visible from the castle windows, striding around the grounds with Fang at his heels, the scene didn't look right to Harry. It was no better, in fact, than inside the castle, where things were so horribly wrong and fear reigned.

Draco Malfoy smirked as he looked at the countless looks of terror on his fellow student's faces. They were weak, weak and filthy, all of them. Not like him, heir of the most powerful and pure Malfoy line. _He_ had nothing to fear. Malfoy only wished he knew who the heir was, because it couldn't be that oaf, Hagrid, only an idiot would believe that desperate lie. Malfoy didn't think that he was even fully human, let alone pure blood. Father had told him that the idiot Fudge had been most amusing to behold as he desperately grasped for something to do and to appear in control. And the old coot, Dumbledore, trying to appear as if Malfoy's Father had not defeated him. His Father had told Malfoy of Dumbledore's parting words, obviously trying to sound wise and powerful. His Father found it most pathetic, and Malfoy agreed.

Harry had been more angry than afraid ever since the night of Hagrid's arrest and it rankled even more that he was completely powerless. Though he was ready and willing to follow Hagrid's hint about the spiders (Ron less so, due to his fear of spiders) there seemed to be no spiders left in the castle. They were hampered, of course, by the fact that they weren't allowed to wander off on their own, but had to move around the castle in a pack of other Gryffindors. Most of his fellow students found this comforting, but Harry found it irksome, especially when they couldn't discuss with Ron the little they knew without being overheard.

With Dumbledore gone fear spread as never before, so that the sun that was warming the castle walls outside seemed to stop at the mullioned windows. Harry constantly repeated Dumbledore's final words to himself. "_You will find that I have only truly left the school when none here are loyal to me … Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."_ But what good were those words? Who exactly were they supposed to ask when everybody, including the teachers, was just as worried and scared as they were?

Harry had written to Sirius and Remus, asking them for advice, but had lost his temper when their only response was a worried '_Try and keep out of trouble'_ as they had even less idea of what was happening and didn't want Harry involved in such intense danger again.

Draco Malfoy seemed to be the only person in the castle, including the rest of the Slytherins, that seemed pleased that Dumbledore was gone or that the Chamber was open. The majority of the Slytherins were as scared as the rest of the school. Malfoy was heard to be gloating, one Potions lesson, "I always thought Father would be the one to get rid of Dumbledore," he said, not troubling to keep his voice down, "I told you he thinks Dumbledore's the worst Headmaster the school's ever had. Maybe we'll get a decent Headmaster now. McGonagall won't last long, she's only filling in."

Snape, who had made it clear that he didn't accept the fear of death and danger as an excuse for anything less than perfect potion making, swept past Harry. "Sir," said Malfoy in the same slightly sycophantic tone he always reserved for Snape. "Sir, why don't _you_ apply for the Headmaster's job?"

Snape gave a thin-lipped smile. "Now, now Draco," he said, "Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I dare say he'll be back soon enough,"

"Yeah, right," said Malfoy, smirking. "I'd expect you have Father's vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job. _I'll_ tell him you're the best teacher here." Snape didn't respond and swept off around the dungeon, fortunately not spotting Seamus Finnegan who was pretending to vomit into his cauldron. "I'm surprised the Mudbloods haven't all packed their bags by now," Malfoy went on. "It's only a matter of time until one of them dies. Pity it wasn't Granger …"

The bell rang at that moment, which was lucky, as no noticed both Harry and Ron drawing their wands in the rush to collect bags and books. Unfortunately, it also obscured their aim so they were unable to curse Malfoy.

"Hurry up, I've got to take you all to Herbology," Snape barked and off they went, crocodile fashion, Harry and Ron still trying to discreetly curse Malfoy.

The Herbology class was very subdued; there were now two missing from their number, Justin and Hermione. Professor Sprout set them all to work pruning the Abyssinian Shrivelfigs. Halfway through the lesson Harry went to tip an armful of withered stalks onto the compost heap and found himself face to face with Ernie Macmillan. Ernie took a deep breath and said, very formally, "I just want to say, Harry, that I'm sorry I ever suspected you. I know you would never attack Hermione Granger, and I apologise for all the stuff I said. We're all in the same boat now, and, well-" he held out a dirty, long fingered hand, and Harry shook it. Ernie and his friend Hannah came to work on the same Shrivelfig as Harry and Ron and the atmosphere lightened slightly, though it seemed that Ron wasn't as willing to forgive Ernie as Harry was.

Later in the lesson, Harry spotted something that made him hit Ron on the hand with his pruning shears. "_Ouch!_ What're you-" Harry pointed at the ground a few feet away. A few large spiders were scurrying across the ground. "Oh, yeah," said Ron, as he tried and failed to look pleased. "But we can't follow them now…"

"Looks like their heading towards the Forbidden Forest," Harry said to himself as he watched the spiders run away. Ron suppressed a small groan.

At the end of the lesson Professor Snape escorted then to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Harry and Ron lagged behind so they could talk out of earshot. "We'll have to use the Invisibility Cloak again," Harry told Ron. "And we can take Fang with us. He's used to going into the Forest with Hagrid, he might be some help."

"Right," said Ron, who was twirling his wand nervously in his fingers. "Er – aren't there supposed to be werewolves in the Forest?" he added as they took their usual place in the back of Lockheart's classroom.

"Why would they live there?" said Harry, exasperated. At Ron's blank look he continued, "Look, werewolves are normal human beings for most of the month, so why would any normal person live in the Forest? Besides, its not even Full Moon tonight."

"There's still loads of other stuff though," Ron muttered. "I mean, its not Forbidden for nothing."

Harry was spared answering by Lockheart bounding into the room. The class stared. Every other teacher in the castle had been looking grimmer than usual, which, in Snape's case, was quite an achievement, but Lockheart appeared to be nothing short of buoyant.

"Come now," he cried, beaming around at them. "Why all these long faces?" They swapped exasperated looks, but nobody spoke. "Don't you people realise," said Lockheart, speaking slowly as if they were a bit dim, "that the danger has passed! The culprit has been caught and taken away."

"Says who?" said Dean Thomas loudly.

"My dear boy, the Minister of Magic would hardly have taken Hagrid away of he hadn't been one hundred percent sure of his guilt," said Lockheart with the air of someone explaining that one and one made two. Harry snorted.

"Anyone who seriously thinks that _Hagrid_ is the 'Heir of Slytherin', or that he could actually attack anybody is stupider than a mountain troll," said Harry viciously. Malfoy glanced at Harry, taken aback by the thought that he and Potter actually _agreed_ on something

"I flatter myself that I know a _touch_ more about Hagrid's arrest than you do, Mr Potter," said Lockheart in a self-satisfied tone. Harry opened his mouth to reply but Ron kicked him hard under the desk.

"We weren't there, remember?" he muttered. But Lockheart's disgusting cheeriness, his hints that he had always thought that Hagrid was no good and his confidence that the whole business was now at an end, tested both their patience to the limit. It irritated Harry so much that he yearned to throw _Gadding with Ghouls_ right at Lockheart's stupid face. Instead he contented himself with scrawling a not to Ron: '_Let's do it tonight'._ Ron read the message, swallowed hard and looked sideways to the seat usually occupied by Hermione. The sight seemed to stiffen his resolve, and he nodded.

The Gryffindor common room was uncommonly crowded because from six o'clock onwards the Gryffindors had nowhere else to go. They also had a lot to talk about and since the curfew had been imposed the common room often didn't empty until past midnight. Harry went to get the Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk after dinner, and spent the evening sitting on it, waiting for the room to clear. It almost seemed as if the room would never clear, as people had even more to discuss since Hagrid's arrest and Dumbledore's suspension, but eventually, the last of the tired students staggered up to bed and Harry and Ron slipped under the Cloak and out of the Portrait Hole.

It was another difficult journey through the castle, dodging all the teachers. At last they reached the Entrance Hall, slid back the lock on the great oak front doors, squeezed between them, trying to stop any creaking and stepped out onto the moonlit grounds. Ron had gone a faint shade of green, but he muttered, "Can't turn back now," and marched towards Hagrid's empty hut.

Fang greeted them joyfully when Ron pushed open the unlocked door. "At least someone's happy," Harry muttered with a small smile. He was glad they would have Fang with them in the Forest, even if he was a coward. Harry left the Invisibility Cloak on Hagrid's table. There would be no need for it in the pitch-black Forest. "C'mon Fang, we're going for a walk," said Harry, patting his leg. Fang bounded happily out of the house and dashed to the edge of the Forest. Harry lifted his wand, murmured, "_Lumos!"_ and a tiny light appeared at the end of it, just enough to see the path in front of them and watch for signs of spiders. "Good idea," said Ron, and with that they headed towards the Forbidden Forest.


	15. Chapter 15

It took Harry and Ron what felt like several hours to find a trail of spiders on the Forbidden Forest's floor. They delved further into the Forest, the light from their wands seeming insignificant against the blackness, when Ron suddenly froze just behind Harry, his eyes fixed on a point some ten feet above the Forest floor, right behind Harry. His face was livid with terror and his eyes bulged.

Harry didn't even have time to turn around. There was a loud clicking sound and suddenly he felt something long and hairy seize him around the middle and lift him off the ground. Struggling and terrified, he saw Ron's legs leave the ground too and heard Fang whimpering and howling in the distance. Together the three of them were swept into the dark trees.

Harry gave up struggling; it was hopeless. The giant spider that had grabbed him was far too strong. He knew that Ron and Fang would do no better, they were being taken to the heart of the Forest.

Harry never knew how long he was in the creature's clutches; he only knew that the leaf-strewn ground was now swarming with spiders. Craning his neck sideways he realised that they had reached the rim of a vast hollow, a hollow that had been cleared of trees so that the stars shone brightly into it. There were spiders. Not just tiny spiders like those surging over the leaves below, but spiders the size of carthorses, eight eyed, eight legged, black, hairy, gigantic spiders. Harry was suddenly overcome with a paranoid tickling sensation of a thousand spiders crawling all over him and was unable to stop himself wriggling once more.

The massive specimen that was carrying Harry made its way down the steep slope, towards a misty domed web in the very centre of the hollow, while its fellows closed in all around it, clicking their pincers excitedly at the sight of its load. Harry felt sure that he and Ron had never been in a worse fix, and considering what had happened in their previous year, that was quite impressive.

Harry fell to the ground on all fours as the spider released him. Ron and Fang thudded down next to him. Ron's face seemed to be contorted in a silent scream and he seemed unable to make any kind of sound. Harry knew that Ron's worst fear was spiders.

The spider that had carried Harry seemed now to almost be bowing to the misty domed web and intoning "Aragog! Aragog!" From the web a spider the size of a small elephant emerged, very slowly. There was grey in the black of his body and his eyes seemed infused with a milky whiteness. He was blind.

"What is it?" Aragog said with an unmistakeable authority, clicking his pincers.

"Men," said the spider who had been carrying Ron,

"And a … dog," said the spider who had been carrying Fang, sounding almost, to Harry's ears, petulant.

"Is it Hagrid?" said Aragog slowly as he moved closer, his eight milky eyes wandering vaguely.

"Strangers," said the spider who had been carrying Harry.

"Kill them," said Aragog lazily, "I was sleeping…"

"We're friends of Hagrid's," Harry shouted frantically. His heart seemed to be pounding in his throat.

Aragog paused.

"Hagrid's in trouble," said Harry breathing very fast. "That's why we've come."

"In trouble?" said the aged spider, and Harry thought he heard a trace of concern in his voice. "But why has he sent you, friends of Hagrid?"

"They think, up at the school, that Hagrid's been setting a – a something on the students. They've taken him to Azkaban. You've got to help. Please."

Aragog clicked his pincers furiously, and all around the hollow the sound was echoed by the crowd of spiders. It was like applause, except applause didn't usually make Harry sick with fear. "But that was years ago," said Aragog angrily. "Years and years ago. I remember it well. That's why they made him leave the school. They believed that _I_ was the monster that dwelled in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free."

"And you … you didn't come from the Chamber of Secrets?" said Harry, who could feel a cold sweat forming on his forehead.

"I!" said Aragog angrily and Harry was suddenly and terrifyingly aware that he had somehow offended the creature. "I was not born in the castle. I come from a distant land, far beyond your imagination, boy. A traveller gave me to Hagrid when I was just an egg. Hagrid was just a boy, but he cared for me, hidden in a cupboard in the castle, feeding me on scraps from the table. Hagrid is my good friend and a good man. When I was discovered, and blamed for the death of the girl, Hagrid protected me. I lived here in the Forest ever since, where Hagrid still visits me. He even found me a wife, Mosag, and you can see how our family has grown, all through Hagrid's goodness…"

Harry summoned what remained of his courage. "So you never – never attacked anyone?"

"Never," croaked the old spider. "Although it would have been my instinct, out of respect of Hagrid, I never harmed a human. The body of the girl was discovered in a bathroom. I never saw any part of the castle apart from the cupboard. Our kind like the dark and quiet…"

"But then … do you know what _did_ kill that girl?" said Harry, "Because whatever it is, its back and its attack people again-"

His words were drowned out by a loud outbreak of clicking and the rustling of many long legs shifting angrily. Harry saw large black shapes shifting all around him and fell silent. "The thing that lives in the castle," said Aragog, "is an ancient creature that we spiders fear above all others. I remember all too well how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go when I sensed the beast moving through the castle."

"What is it?" asked Harry urgently. More loud clicking, more rustling. The spiders seemed to be closing in.

"We do not speak of it. We do not name it. I never even told Hagrid the name of the dread creature, though he asked many times. Yes, many, many times."

Harry didn't want to press the subject, not with the spiders pressing closer on all sides. Aragog seemed to be tired of talking; he was backing slowly into his domed web, but his fellow spiders continued to inch towards Harry and Ron. "We'll just go then," Harry called desperately to Aragog as the leaves rustled behind him.

"Go?" said Aragog slowly, "I think not…"

"But – but-"

"My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid on my command. But I cannot deny them fresh meat when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Goodbye, friends of Hagrid."

"Wait!" Harry yelled desperately. "Wait! You can't kill us. We're the only ones that believe that Hagrid is innocent!" Whilst it wasn't entirely true, the lie hardly pricked Harry's conscience. After all, they were about to die.

"Then you are the only ones who might save him from Azkaban," said Aragog. Hardly daring to believe that they might get out of the Forest alive, Harry nodded frantically. "Hagrid spoke with unspeakable fear of that place," said Aragog, his pincers clicking fretfully. He seemed deep in thought. "Very well, you may go free, but make sure you do save Hagrid." And so, without daring to look back, Harry and Ron fled the Forbidden Forest.

One of the elder spiders turned towards Aragog as he watched Harry and Ron leave. "Do you think it wise to let them go?" the spider asked, as respectfully as he could. "Afterall, they belong to the school, and if those at the school knew that you were not destroyed as was commanded by their Minister, it would mean the end for us all…"

Aragog clicked his pincers fretfully. "They are friends of Hagrid, they would not betray him. And if what they say is true, they are the only ones that can save him. I would not let Hagrid down by letting him rot in such a place as Azkaban." The spider that had question Aragog backed away, recognising the dismissal.

Harry and Ron didn't stop running until they reached Hagrid's cabin. Fang whimpered as he curled up in his basket, his tail between his legs. Harry glanced at Ron, who seemed to be slowly coming out of a state of shock and being violently sick in Hagrid's sink. "Are you OK?" asked Harry, as he fetched a glass of water.

"Follow the spiders," said Ron weakly as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and accepted the glass of water from Harry. "I'll never forgive Hagrid. We're lucky to be alive. Brilliant thinking back there by the way,"

"I bet Hagrid thought Aragog wouldn't hurt friends of his," said Harry gloomily.

"That's exactly Hagrid's problem," said Ron, thumping the wall of the cabin. "He always thinks monsters aren't as bad as they're made out to be, and look where it's got him! A cell in Azkaban!" He was shivering uncontrollably now. "What was the point of sending us in there? What exactly have we found out?"

"That Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets," said Harry as he pulled the Invisibility Cloak over the both of them and poked Ron to get him to start walking. "He was innocent." Ron snorted loudly. Evidently hatching Aragog in a cupboard wasn't his idea of innocent. Although his loyalty to Hagrid meant he would never say it, Harry was inclined to agree with Ron.

The journey through the castle, which had seemed terrifying the first time round, with the looming teachers and the danger of being caught at any second seemed almost calm after the Forest. At last they reached the safety of the Gryffindor common room, where the fire had burned itself into glowing ash. They took off the Cloak and slowly climbed the winding staircase to their dormitory.

Ron fell onto his bed without bothering to get undressed and very quickly fell into a deep sleep, snoring softly. Harry, however, found he didn't feel at all tired, despite how late it was.

Harry sat on the edge of his four-poster, thinking hard about what Aragog had said. The creature that was lurking somewhere in the castle sounded like some sort of monster Voldemort – even other monsters didn't want to name it. But he and Ron were no closer to finding out what it was, or how it Petrified its victims. Even Hagrid had never known what was in the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry swung his legs onto the bed and leant back against the pillows, watching the moon glinting at him through the tower window. He couldn't see what they could do; they had hit dead ends everywhere. Riddle had caught the wrong person, the heir of Slytherin had got off, and no one could tell whether it was the same person, or a different one that was opening the Chamber of Secrets this time. There was nobody to ask. Harry lay down, still thinking about what Aragog had said.

He was just becoming drowsy when an idea hit him with full force. He sat bolt upright, suddenly wide awake. "Ron," he hissed through the dark, trying to wake the now deeply asleep Ron without waking the rest of the dormitory. "Ron!" he hissed again, a little louder. Ron woke will a yelp like Fang's and stared wildly around until he saw Harry. "Ron – that girl who died last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened. Aragog said her body was found in a bathroom," said Harry, ignoring Neville's snuffling snores from the corner. "What if she never left the bathroom? What if she's still there?"

Ron took a moment, looking puzzled and frowning through the moonlight as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. And then he understood. "You _don't_ think – not _Moaning Myrtle_."


	16. Chapter 16

A/N – I'm so sorry at how long it's taken me to update – a combination of pressure from my exams, something going wrong with my computer and me losing the chapter when I had written it once and being seriously ill (I had to go into hospital briefly) stopped me. Anyway, I hope this chapter makes up for the lack of update.

"All those times we were in the bathroom and she was just three toilets away," said Ron bitterly at breakfast next day, "and we could have asked her, and now…"

It had been hard enough looking for the spiders. Escaping their teachers long enough to sneak into a girl's bathroom, the girl's bathroom, moreover, right next to the scene of the first attack, was going to be impossible. _Perhaps,_ Harry thought gloomily, _if he had the Marauders' Map it might be possible_, but he knew it had been confiscated by Filch, and would be impossible to retrieve, as much as he longed to.

Something happened, however, in their first lesson, Transfiguration, that drove the Chamber of Secrets out of their minds for the first time in weeks. Ten minutes into the class Professor McGonagall announced that their exams would start on the first of June, just one week from today.

"_Exams!_" howled Seamus Finnigan in indignation. "We're still getting _exams?_"

There was a loud bang behind Harry. Neville Longbottom had let his wand slip and accidently Vanished the leg to his table. Professor McGonagall restored it with an irritated wave of her own wand and turned, frowning, to Seamus.

"The whole point of keeping the school open at this time is so you can continue to receive your education," she said sternly. "Naturally this includes testing how much you have learned this year. I trust you are revising hard."

Revising hard! The thought hadn't even occurred to Harry that there would be exams with the castle in this state. A round of mutinous muttering spread around the classroom, causing Professor McGonagall to scowl even more darkly. "Professor Dumbledore's instructions were to keep the school running as normally as possible. Naturally this includes examining you. It is needless to say that I shall be severely disappointed should any one of you fail to perform to the standards I expect."

Harry looked down at the pair of white rabbits he was supposed to be turning into slippers, and then looked over at Ron, who looked as if he had been told that he was expected to go live in the Forbidden Forest. "I'm doomed," Ron whispered, his face white. "I'm going to fail everything."

Three days before their first exam, Professor McGonagall made another announcement at breakfast. "I have good news," she said, and the Great Hall, instead of falling silent, erupted,

"Dumbledore's coming back," yelled several people joyfully,

"You've caught the real heir of Slytherin," squealed a girl on the Ravenclaw table,

"Quidditch is back on," roared Wood excitedly.

When the hubbub had subsided, Professor McGonagall said, "Professor Sprout has just informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight we will be able to revive the poor victims who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am therefore very hopeful that this most dreadful of years will end with our catching the culprit."

There was an explosion of cheering. Harry looked over to the Slytherin table and wasn't surprised to see that Draco Malfoy wasn't joining in, and in fact was looking extremely miserable. Ron, on the other hand was looking happier than he had looked in weeks.

"It won't matter that we never got to ask Myrtle then!" he said to Harry over the cheering, which was still going on (and even Professor McGonagall was giving one of her rare smiles, and not even attempting to calm the students) "Hermione will probably have all the answers when she wakes up. Mind you, she'll go mad when she finds out we've got exams in three days. She hasn't revised. It might be kinder to leave her where she is until they're over." Harry laughed, and was just planning the letter he would write to Sirius and Remus with the good news when Ginny Weasley came and sat down next to Ron. She looked tense and nervous, and Harry noticed that her hands were twisting in her lap.

"What's up?" asked Ron as he helped himself to more porridge. Ginny didn't say anything, but glanced up and down the Gryffindor table with a scared look on her face that reminded Harry of someone, though he couldn't think who. "Spit it out," said Ron, watching her.

Harry suddenly realised who Ginny looked like. She was rocking backwards and forwards on her chair, exactly like Dobby when he was teetering on the edge of revealing forbidden information. "It's alright," said Harry, attempting to be comforting, but Ginny only looked more scared.

"I've got to tell you something," she mumbled, carefully not looking at either of them,

"What is it?" asked Harry as kindly as possible, although he felt like he was about to burst from the tension. Ginny opened her mouth, struggling to find the words,

"_What?_" said Ron. Ginny remained silent. Harry leant forward and spoke so that only Ginny and Ron could hear him.

"Is it about the Chamber of Secrets? Do you know anything? Have you seen anything? Have you been threatened?"

Ginny drew a deep breath and, at that precise moment, Percy Weasley appeared, looking tired and wan.

"If you've finished eating I'll take that seat, Ginny. I'm starving, I've only just come off patrol duty." Ginny jumped up as if her chair had been electrified, gave Percy a fleeting, frightened look and scarpered away. Percy sat down and grabbed a mug from the centre of the table.

"Percy!" said Ron, angrily. "She was just about to tell us something important! Now you've ruined it!"

Halfway through a gulp of tea, Percy choked.

"What sort of thing?" he asked with a vaguely panicked look on his face.

"I just asked her if she'd seen anything odd, and she started to say-"

"Oh – that's nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets," said Percy immediately.

"How do you know?" asked Ron, his eyebrows raised.

"Well – er - if you must know, Ginny – er – walked in on me the other day when I was – well – never mind what I was doing. The point is, she spotted me doing something I'd rather nobody else knew about and I asked her not to mention it to anybody. I must say, I rather thought she'd keep her word. It's nothing serious, just something private-"

Harry had never seen Percy look so uncomfortable.

"What were you doing, Percy?" asked Ron, grinning. "Go on, tell us, we won't laugh."

Percy didn't smile back.

"Pass the rolls, Harry, I'm starving."

Harry knew the whole mystery might be solved tomorrow without their help, (a fact that Sirius and Remus had made immediately sure to remind him of, in the hope he wouldn't get into trouble this year), but he wasn't about to turn a chance to speak with Myrtle if it turned up – and to his delight it did, mid-morning, when they were being led to History of Magic by Professor Lockheart.

Lockheart, who had so often assured them that the danger had passed, only to be proved wrong almost immediately, was now whole-heatedly convinced that it wasn't worth the trouble escorting them down the corridors. His hair wasn't as sleek as usual: it seemed he had been up all night, patrolling the fourth floor.

"Mark my words," he said confidently as he ushered them round the corner, "the first words out of those poor Petrified people's mouths will be 'It was Hagrid'. Frankly, I'm astounded Professor McGonagall thinks these security measures are still necessary."

"I totally agree, sir," said Harry, using the same sycophantic voice that Draco Malfoy always used when talking to Professor Snape and causing Ron to almost drop his books in surprise.

"Thank you, Harry," said Lockheart graciously whilst they waited for a long line of Hufflepuffs to pass. "I mean, we teachers have quite enough to be getting on with, without walking students to classes and standing guard all night long …"

"That's right," said Ron, quickly catching on to Harry's plan. "Why don't you leave us here, sir, we've only got one more corridor to go."

"You know, Weasley, I think I will," said Lockheart, "I really should go and prepare my next class."

And he hurried off.

"Prepare his next class," Ron sneered after him. "Gone to curl his hair, more like. Not looking as _perfect_ as usual."

They let the rest of the Gryffindors draw ahead of them, and then darted down a hidden, side passage that Harry had found in his First Year and hurried towards Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. But just as they were congratulating each other on their brilliant scheme …

"Potter! Weasley! What _are_ you doing?"

It was Professor McGonagall, and her mouth was the thinnest of thin lines.

"We were – we were – " Ron stammered. "We were going to – going to – to go and see –"

"–Hermione," said Harry quickly. Ron and Professor McGonagall both looked at him. "We haven't seen her in ages, Professor," Harry went on, treading on Ron's foot as Ron tried desperately to look as if this story wasn't completely new to him, "and we thought we'd sneak into the Hospital Wing, you know, and tell her the Mandrakes are nearly ready and, er, not to worry."

Professor McGonagall was still staring at him, and for a moment Harry thought she was going to explode, but when she spoke it was in a strangely croaky voice.

"Of course," and Harry was amazed to see a tear glistening in her beady eye. "Of course I realise that this has been the hardest on the friends who have been … I quite understand. Yes, Potter, you and Mr Weasley may visit Miss Granger. I shall inform Professor Binns where you have gone. Tell Madam Pomfrey I have given you my permission. Only, I must ask, Mr Potter, how did you get the opportunity to escape to the Hospital Wing in the first place?"

And, hardly daring to believe that they'd escaped detention _and _gotten the opportunity to get Lockheart into trouble, Harry explained how they convinced Lockheart to let them go, at which point Professor McGonagall returned to her usual stern self and marched off to find Professor Binns and Professor Lockheart.

"That," said Ron fervently, once they were out of earshot, "was the best story you've _ever_ come up with. I forgot, Hermione's McGonagall's favourite." The only problem now was that they no choice but to visit Hermione in the Hospital Wing now that they had Professor McGonagall's permission.

Madam Pomfrey let them in, but she was extremely reluctant. "There's just no _point_ talking to a Petrified person," she said, and they had to admit that she was right when they'd taken their seats by Hermione's bedside. It was plain for them both to see that Hermione had not the faintest inkling she had visitors. They might as well have been telling a bedside cabinet that everything was going to be all right for all the good it would do.

"Wonder if she did see the attacker, though?" said Ron, looking sadly at Hermione's rigid face. "Because if he sneaked up on all of them then no one will ever know …"

But Harry wasn't looking at Hermione's face. He was more interested in her right hand. Clenched inside her Petrified fist was as small piece of paper. Making sure that Madam Pomfrey was nowhere near he pointed this out to Ron. "Try and get it out," Ron whispered as he shifted his chair so that he blocked Madam Pomfrey's view to Harry.

It was no easy task. Hermione's hand was clamped to tightly around the paper that Harry was sure he was going to tear it. While Ron kept watch he tugged and twisted, and after several tense minutes the piece of paper finally came free. It was a page torn from a very old library book. Harry smoothed it out eagerly and Ron leaned in close to read as well.

_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size, and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it._

And beneath this, written in handwriting knew instantly as Hermione's, was written the single word. _Pipes_. It was as though somebody had flicked a light on in his brain.

"Ron, this is it. _This_ is the answer."


	17. Chapter 17

A/N – So sorry for the long update. Numerous things prevented me – exams, moving house. I hope this chapter will make up for it!

And, as always, please review. They are my lifeblood.

After the excitement of _finally_ working out the answer had worn off, Harry and Ron decided to look for Professor McGonagall in the staff room, since she would be there at break. Although Harry grumbled under his breath about how _Sirius would be so disappointed that he deliberately missed out on the adventure and done the sensible thing._ Ron stared at him for a moment. Harry couldn't really have mentioned the name of one of the most famous mass murderers of all time, could he? Ron dismissed the thought almost immediately before racing after Harry.

"This means," said Harry as they raced along, "that I _can't_ be the only Parselmouth in the school. The Heir of Slytherin must be one as well. That's how they've been controlling the Basilisk." They ran downstairs, not wanting to be discovered hanging around in another corridor, they went straight into the deserted staff room. It was a large oak panelled room full of dark wooden chairs and shadowy corners. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen, even as he paced around the room, too excited to sit down.

But the bell to signal break never came.

Instead, echoing through the corridors came Professor McGonagall's voice, magically magnified, her voice quavering with as much emotion as Professor McGonagall ever showed. "_All students to return to their house dormitories at once. All teachers are to return to the staff room. Immediately."_

Harry wheeled around to stare at Ron. "Not another attack? Not now?"

"What'll we do?" said Ron, aghast. "Go back to the dormitory?"

"No," replied Harry as he glanced around. There was an ugly sort of wardrobe to his left, full of teachers' cloaks. "In here. Let's see what it's all about, then we can tell them what we've found out."

They hid themselves inside it, listening to the rumbling of hundreds of people moving around the castle, many, having guessed what was going on, in a state of complete panic. They heard the staff room door banging open and from between the musty folds of the cloaks they watched the teachers filter into the room. Some were looking puzzled, others downright scared. Then Professor McGonagall arrived and the staff room fell silent instantly.

"It has happened," she told the silent room. "A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself."

Professor Flitwick let out a squeal. Professor Sprout clapped her hands over her mouth. Professor Snape gripped the back of his chair very hard and said in a deliberately even voice, "How can you be sure?"

"The heir of Slytherin," said Professor McGonagall, who was very white, "left a message. Right underneath the first one. _Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever._"

Harry and Ron glanced at each other. Professor Flitwick burst into tears.

"Who is it?" asked Madam Hooch, as if she almost didn't want to know the answer. "Which student?" she said again as she sunk, weak kneed into a chair.

"Ginny Weasley," said Professor McGonagall.

"No," whispered Harry, who had become fond of Ginny in the short time he had known her. He felt Ron slide silently down onto the wardrobe floor beside him.

Professor McGonagall seemed to gather herself and said stiffly, "The students will have to sent home first thing tomorrow. Heads of Houses, inform your students of what has happened-"

The staff room door banged open again. For one wild moment Harry was sure it was Dumbledore walking through the door, come to make everything alright. But it was Lockheart, and he was beaming. Harry took one look at that cheerful expression and felt an enormous amount of hatred surge through him.

"Sorry – dozed off – what have I missed?" he said

Lockheart didn't seem to notice that the other teachers were looking at him with something remarkably like hatred. Snape stepped silently forward and murmured in a soft, silky voice, "Lockheart. The very man we were looking for." At this a few of the other teachers looked at Snape in confusion. "A girl has been snatched by the monster. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last."

If it had not been for the seriousness of the situation, the look on Lockheart's face would have been hilarious.

"That's right Gilderoy," chipped in Professor Sprout. "Weren't you saying just last night that you've known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?"

"I – well – I, you must have-" spluttered Lockheart.

"Yes, weren't you saying you were sure you knew what was inside it?" piped up Professor Flitwick.

"D-did I? I don't recall…"

"I certainly remember you saying that you were sorry you hadn't had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested," said Snape, who had been observing with an air of smug satisfaction. "Weren't you saying that the whole affair had been bungled and you wish you had been given a free rein from the outset?"

Lockheart stared around at his stony faced colleagues, desperately searching for allies. "I … I really never … You must have misunderstood-"

"We'll leave you to it then, Gilderoy," said Professor McGonagall, cutting Lockheart off with satisfaction. "Tonight will be an excellent time to do whatever you have to do. We'll make sure everyone's out of your way. You'll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself. A free rein at last."

Lockheart didn't look remotely handsome anymore. His lower lip was trembling, and in the absence of his usual toothy grin, he looked weak chinned and weedy. "V-very well then," he said. "I'll – I'll be in my office, getting … getting ready." And with that he left the room.

"Right," said Professor McGonagall, whose nostrils were flared. "That's got _him_ out from under our feet." Professor McGonagall felt a large amount of guilty pleasure in humiliating the egoistical _fool_ the way she had longed to do from the very moment he had arrived. Though none of them would admit it, she suspected her colleagues were feeling the same as she did, though now their minds were once again focused on the dreadful truth before them.

Before she could continue, however, Harry Potter burst out of the old wardrobe to her left, Ron Weasley not far behind. Before Professor McGonagall could recover, Snape was practically on top of them, eyes glittering with anger.

"Wait," Harry yelled desperately. "I know I've earned about a years worth of detentions, but I know how to get into the Chamber, and where it is, and what the monster is." The whole staff room seemed to freeze. Harry took advantage of the momentary pause and launched himself forward, showing them the piece of paper they had taken from Hermione's frozen hand and explaining his theory.

"Well," said Professor McGonagall once she had recovered, "Severus, I believe you are the best choice to go after this monster, since your knowledge of the Dark Arts is … more extensive than the rest of ours. I shall take Potter and Weasley back to the common room, and," she said, turning to Harry and Ron, "I shall expect a full explanation from both of you."

Ron looked even more nervous at the prospect of having to explain all of the things they had done to get their information, but Harry spoke up again. "Wait," he said again, with a slight tremor in his voice. "I think you're going to need me to get into the Chamber."

"And _why_ is that, Potter? Do you really think we are so hopeless without you?" asked Snape scornfully,

"I can speak Parseltongue," replied Harry before Snape could get any further insulting him. "And I think you need to be able to speak it to get in. It is the heir of Slytherin, after all."

Even Professor Snape could not argue with Harry's logic, and Snape and Harry had got sent to the Chamber together. Ron had protested at being left behind while his sister was in danger, but he had no choice to return with Professor McGonagall. Harry gave the feeble promise that Ginny would be fine, after all, even he doubted that Ginny was still alive.

Professor Snape and Harry were left alone in the staff room as all teachers rushed out quickly to their tasks, filled with energy once more. Suddenly Harry had no idea what to do, but Snape said sarcastically, and with the merest hint of a smirk, "Lead on, Potter."


	18. Chapter 18

Harry raced to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, desperately clinging onto the slightest possibility that Ginny was still alive. Snape seemed to glide along behind him, his face even more stone like and serious than it usually was. Harry slowed as they approached the bathroom, glancing back at Snape.

They marched to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom together. Moaning Myrtle herself was sitting on the cistern of the end toilet, looking as morose as usual. "Oh, it's you," she said when she saw Harry. "What do you want _this_ time?" Snape looked like he wanted very dearly to ask why Harry had previously ventured into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, but was holding himself back. Harry ignored him and replied to Myrtle,

"To ask you how you died,"

Myrtle's whole aspect changed at once. She looked as if she had never been asked such a flattering question.

"Ooooooh, it was dreadful," she said with relish. "It happened right in here. It happened right in this very cubicle. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses _again_. The door was locked and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a _boy_ speaking. Anyway, I unlocked the door to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then," she swelled up importantly, her face shining with glee, "I _died_."

"How?" said Snape impatiently. Myrtle glanced at him, as if she was only just realising he was there before continuing,

"No idea," she said in hushed tones. "I just remember seeing a great big pair of yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away …" She looked dreamily at Harry, "And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."

"Yellow eyes," murmured Snape to himself, "it does sound like a basilisk," he admitted to Harry before he turned and faced Myrtle again. "Where _exactly_ did you see the eyes?"

"Somewhere over there," said Myrtle vaguely, pointing towards the sink in front of her toilet.

It looked like an ordinary sink. Snape examined every inch of it, inside and out, including the pipes below. And then Harry saw it: scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake. "That tap's never worked," said Myrtle brightly as he tried to turn it.

"Say something," ordered Snape. "Say something in Parseltongue. Tell it to open."

"But-" Harry thought hard. The only time he had been able to say something in Parseltongue previously was when he had been faced with an actual live snake. He stared hard at the engraving, trying to imagine it was real. "Open up," he said.

He looked at Snape who shook his head with disdain.

"English," he said shortly.

Harry looked back at the snake, willing himself to believe it was alive. If he moved his head just slightly the flickering of the candlelight made it look as though the snake was moving. "Open up," he said once more. Except those weren't the words he heard. Instead a strange hissing seemed to escape him and at once the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. Next second the sink began to move. The sink, in fact, sank right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe large enough for a man to slide down.

"Go back to the staff room," said Snape, not looking at him. Harry shook his head,

"I can't turn back now, besides, you might need me again. Because I can speak Parseltongue."

"Fine," said Snape, irritably. "But do exactly what I say, understand?" Harry nodded and then launched himself down the pipe feet first before he could rethink. It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. He could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as theirs, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downwards, and he knew he was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons. Behind him he could hear Snape, thudding slightly at the curves, and the odd muttered curse.

And then, just as he had begun to worry about what would happen when he hit the ground, the pipe levelled out, and he shot out the end with a wet thud, landing on the damp floor of a dark, stone tunnel, large enough to stand in. "We must be miles under the school," Harry murmured, desperate to break the silence. Snape said nothing but flicked his wand silently to light it. "Lumos," muttered Harry. They both stared at the darkness ahead, before moving forward, their footsteps slapping loudly on the wet floor.

The tunnel was so dark that they could only see a little way ahead, despite the combined wandlight. Their shadows looked monstrous on the wet walls. "Remember, any sign of movement, Potter, close your eyes straight away." Harry nodded silently, trying not to smirk at the absurdity of _Snape_ seeming concerned about his safety.

But despite their caution the tunnel was as quiet as a grave. The first unexpected sound was a loud _crunch_ when Professor Snape stepped on what turned out to be a large rat's skull. Harry lowered his wand to look at the floor and saw that it was littered with animal bones in varying states of decay. Trying very hard not to be sick or to think about what Ginny might look like if they found her, Harry walked on, round a dark bend.

"Eyes closed," said Snape suddenly, grabbing Harry's shoulder. There was a tense silence which seemed to Harry to last forever until Snape let out a breath saying, "It's OK. It's just a skin."

Harry opened his eyes. "That's _huge_,"

"Indeed," said Snape shortly. "Any sign of movement, close your eyes, immediately."

The snakeskin lay curled and empty across the Chamber floor, a vivid, poisonous green. Harry suppressed a shiver and forced himself to continue walking past the giant snakeskin, the flickering light on the walls making it seem more alive than ever. The tunnel turned and turned again. Every nerve in Harry's body was tingling unpleasantly, and even Professor Snape seemed anxious. Harry wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded what he'd find when it did. And then, at last, as they crept around yet another bend he saw a solid wall ahead, on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.

Snape, after mutter various charms and enchantments, turned to Harry, an unusual amount of reluctance showing in his obsidian eyes, "It seems you were correct, Potter," he said. "Your Parselmouth ability seems to be necessary after all."

Harry stepped forward. His throat was strangely dry. There was no need to pretend these stone snakes were real, their eyes looked strangely alive. "_Open,_" said Harry in a low, faint hiss. The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly out of sight, and Harry, shaking from head to foot, with Snape close by, walked slowly inside.


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N – Some of the reviews for my last chapter complained that it was a bit short. I agree, but the reason for this was that the chapter really needed to end there so the proper fight could start in the right place. Or at least, it made sense in my head. Anyway, hope this makes up for the shortness of the previous chapter and, as always, please keep those reviews coming. :D_

Harry found himself standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.

"Move, boy."

It was only then that Harry realised he had frozen to the spot, and he once again forced his legs to move. He listened closely to the chill silence, which was only broken by Snape's heavy breathing, the constant dripping and the echoing footsteps. Could the Basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? Would it fir behind a pillar? And where was Ginny?

Then, as they both drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall. Harry had to crane is neck to look up into the giant face above: it was ancient and monkey-like, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous grey feet stood on the smooth chamber floor. And between the feet, face down, lay a small, black robed figure with unmistakeable flaming red hair.

"_Ginny,_" Harry muttered, but Snape grabbed the back of his robes, preventing him from sprinting immediately to her side. At first he was going to protest, but as he calmed down he accepted, without speaking, that caution was the best approach, as much as it went against his natural instinct.

Snape and Harry, wands out, approached Ginny slowly. Harry kept watch as Snape bent down, murmuring various charms and enchantments with, although Snape was a master at hiding his emotions, an increasing amount of worry and a hint of panic.

"She won't wake," said a soft voice.

Harry jumped and spun around. Snape was more controlled in his reaction, but there was no mistaking the surprise on his face.

A tall, black haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, casually watching, with an almost delighted expression on his face. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry was looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him.

"Tom – _Tom Riddle?_"

Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry's face, his expression almost obsessive.

"What do you mean, she won't wake?" snapped Snape. "Is she dead?"

Riddle's gaze did not leave Harry's face, and Harry was beginning to get unnerved by it. Nevertheless, Riddle answered Snape's question. "She is still alive," he said. "But only just."

Harry stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood, a weird misty light about him, looking not a day older than sixteen. Harry was terrified and had no idea what to do.

As for Riddle himself, he was enjoying himself immensely. He finally had him, The Boy Who Lived, at his complete mercy. Riddle was going to make Potter _suffer_. And as for the man, judging from the pathetic whinings of the girl that now lay at his feet, this was Snape, the Potions Master. Slytherin. A help? Probably not, considering he was down here trying to _stop_ the attacks and help the girl, and with the _Potter_ boy no less.

"Are you a ghost?" Potter asked uncertainly.

"A memory," he replied, laughing to himself at Potter's sheer _ignorance_, and this was the boy that was supposed to be more powerful than _him_? "Preserved in a diary for fifty years." He would play with Potter before he killed him he decided. He would have his fun. His revenge. Potter would regret that he had been denied a swift, painless death all those years previously.

He would have to deal with Snape first though; he clearly suspected something, though precious little Harry Potter had no clue.

"Listen," Potter was saying urgently, "_we've got to go!_ If the Basilisk comes… "

"It won't come until it is called,"

"What d'you mean?" Said Potter, although Riddle could tell Potter was just beginning to suspect something _him_ and his smile broadened, his eyes gleamed. Finally, the fun could begin.

"I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter. For the chance to see you. To speak to you."

Professor Snape, who had made the connections far faster than Harry, soon realised that the key to the whole, dreadful mess was the shabby little diary sitting on the stone floor. Unfortunately, he also soon discovered, after a few discreet spells, that _this_ diary would be almost impossible to destroy.

"How did Ginny get like this?" Harry asked slowly, gripping his wand tightly, although he really wasn't sure what he could do. He was sure that there were no spells that he knew that could the memory of Riddle that was standing before him.

"Well that's an interesting question," said Riddle pleasantly, as if he were merely talking about the weather and not how he was slowly murdering a schoolgirl. "And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley's like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger."

"What are you talking about?" said Harry.

Behind him, Harry heard Snape mutter, "Stupid girl," though with the same note of panic and even _understanding_ that he had displayed earlier.

"The diary," said Riddle. "_My_ diary. And quite a marvellous creation it is too, if I do say so myself. Little Ginny's been writing in is for months and months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes: how her brothers _tease_ her, how she had to come to school with send hand clothes and books, how-" Riddle's eyes glinted with a malicious pleasure "- how she didn't think famous, good, great Harry Potter would _ever_ like her…"

All the time he spoke, Riddle's eyes never left Harry's face. The hungry, obsessive look on it had only deepened.

"It's very _boring_, having to listen to the silly little troubles of a Silly. Little. Girl," he went on. "But I was patient. I wrote back, I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply _loved_ me. _No one's ever understood me like you, Tom … I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in … It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket_ … If I say it myself, Harry, I've always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul was happened to be exactly what I needed. I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest desires. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of _my _secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into _her_ …"

Riddle laughed a high, cold laugh that didn't suit the handsome face, but made Harry think of one he had heard before in his darkest dreams. And the voice, the voice with it's ice cold chill he had heard only last year and finally, _finally_ he couldn't deny his suspicions anymore.

"You're Voldemort," Harry said. Snape's eyes snapped to him and away from Ginny, "Voldemort when he was young," Harry gave a bitter smile, desperately trying to cover how scared he was. "You're _Half-blood._ And all that nonsense you give out about Pure-blood supremacy and all."

"How _dare_ you," screamed Riddle, enraged. "How dare you speak my name,"

"But it's not your name, is it? It's just a silly little name you made up to hide who you are,"

Snape's hand was once more clamped on his shoulder, but Harry could barely feel it. He was shaking with fear, rage, and confusion. A bundle of emotions that he had no idea how to control.

Riddle was laughing his high laugh again and continued to gloat. "Oh they were so _stupid_ accepting my word against Hagrid's. Well, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brillaimt, parentless, but so _brave_, school prefect, model student; on the other hand, big blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, and his _fascination_ with brutal animals. But I admit, even _I_ was surprised at how well the plan worked. I though _someone_ must realise that Hagrid couldn't possibly the heir of Slytherin. It had taken _me_ five whole years to learn all the Chamber's secrets … as if Hagrid had the brains, or the power! Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dippet to keep Hagrid and train him as a gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed. Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did …"

"I bet Dumbledore saw right through you," said Harry, his teeth gritted. He kept glancing between Riddle and Snape, but, even as he distracted Riddle by talking to him, Snape still was having no success destroying the diary.

"Well, he certainly kept an annoying close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled," said Riddle carelessly. "I knew it wouldn't be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still at school. But I wasn't going to waste those long years I'd spent searching for it. I decided, when I made the- I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen year old self in it's pages, my soul, if you will. I knew then that one day I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work."

"Well, you haven't finished it," said Harry triumphantly as he moved slightly to cover Snape's thoughtful expression. "No one's died this time, not even the cat. In a few hours the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everybody that was Petrified will be right again."

"Haven't you realised," said Riddle quietly, his eyes once again focused hungrily on Harry's face, "that killing Mudbloods doesn't matter to me any more? For many moths now, my new target has been – _you_"

Snape jumped up and stood in front of Harry. Riddle ignored him.

"Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me, not you. She had seen you with the diary, you see and panicked. What if you found out how to work it and I repeated all her secrets to you? What if, even worse, I told you who'd been strangling the roosters? So the foolish brat stole it back, even though she knew I was much too strong for her. I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and come down here to wait. She struggled and cried and became _very_ boring. But there isn't much life left in her: she put too much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last. I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. I knew you'd come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter."

"Like what?" Harry spat, fists clenched.

"Well," said Riddle, that odd, careless smile once again on his face, "how is it that a baby with no extraordinary magical talent managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did _you_ escape with nothing but a scar, when _my_ powers were destroyed?"

His voice was rising and there was an odd red gleam in his hungry eyes now. Harry thought fast.

"Why should I tell you?" he whispered, his quiet voice full of hatred. "Why should I give you the pleasure of _knowing_?"

"Because the longer you talk, Harry," said Riddle, his voice almost conversational, "the longer you stay alive. Twice, now. Twice, in _your_ past, in _my_ future, twice we have met, twice I have failed to kill you. _How did you survive? _And before you remind me that you are a Parselmouth also, I will tell _you_ that only I can control the Basilisk."

Harry glanced at Snape, who nodded slightly. It seemed that Riddle's claims about the Basilisk were true. "I'm still not telling you," said Harry, "because while I may not have a clue about killing Basilisks, Professor Snape here is an expert." Harry ignored Snape's suppressed jolt of surprise and continued. "But I will tell you one thing for free – you're not the greatest wizard of all time. Sorry to disappoint you, and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong you didn't dare try to take over Hogwarts because you were scared of him. Dumbledore saw right through you at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you're hiding these days."

"Dumbledore's been driven out of the castle by the mere _memory_ of me!" he hissed.

"He's not as gone as you might think!" he was speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than believing it to be true. Of course, it was at that moment that Fawkes decided to arrive bearing the Sorting Hat and the Battle of the Chamber of Secrets began.

Riddle turned and gazed into the high stone face of Slytherin in the half darkness. He opened his mouth wide and hissed – but Harry understood what he was saying.

"_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four._"

Harry, in desperation, jammed the Sorting Hat onto his head as Fawkes flew into the air and Snape began firing curses at the great black hole where Slytherin's mouth used to be.

The Basilisk slithered up from the depths of Slytherin's mouth. Harry turned and ran, holding the Hat on his head. Something huge hit the stone floor of the chamber, Harry felt it shudder. He knew what was happening, he could sense it, could almost see the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin's mouth. Then he heard Riddle's hissing voice speak once more: "_Kill the boy._"

The Basilisk was moving towards Harry, he could hear its heavy body slithering ponderously across the dusty floor. Eyes tightly shut; Harry began to run blindly sideways, his hands stretched out, feeling his way. Riddle was laughing…

Harry tripped. He fell hard onto the stone and tasted blood. The serpent was barely feet from him, he could hear it coming, and despite Snape's desperate curses, all of which were bouncing off the Basilisk's thick, impenetrable skin, nothing was going to stop it.

"_Yes,_ Riddle was saying eagerly. "_Kill the boy! Kill the boy!_"

Then, a miracle. There was a loud, explosive spitting sound right above him. Harry couldn't help it. Trembling, he opened his eyes wide enough to squint at what was going on. The enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak trunk, had raised itself high in the air and its great blunt head was weaving drunkenly between the pillars. Fawkes was soaring around the Basilisk's head and Harry saw, with a great surge of glee, that Fawkes had succeeded in blinding the Basilisk.

Just as Harry was reminding himself that he still had no idea on how to actually _kill_ the Basilisk, and the Basilisk was still entirely deadly, the Sorting Hat, that was still somehow still on his head (it _had_ to be magic) presented him with a gleaming silver sword, its handle glittering with rubies the size of eggs.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "this makes things simpler. Poke the big snake with the pointy thing, Potter."

There was a crash. Harry turned and saw the Basilisk still fighting with Fawkes and Snape. Its tail thrashed, narrowly missing Harry. Harry saw its once great, bulbous yellow eyes now punctured by the phoenix; blood was streaming on the floor and the snake was spitting in agony.

"_No!_" Harry heard Riddle screaming. "_Leave the bird! Leave the bird! Kill the boy! The boy, not the man! You can still smell him! Kill him!_"

The blinded serpent swayed, confused, still deadly. Fawkes was circling its head, piping his eerie song, jabbing here and there as the blood poured from its ruined eyes.

"_Kill the boy! Leave the bird! The boy is behind you! Sniff – smell him!_"

Together Harry, Snape and Fawkes attacked the Basilisk. Snape's curses were obviously hurting the beast, but making no permanent damage. The same seemed true with Fawkes – the Basilisk's eyes had obviously been the one weak spot the phoenix could reach.

Even though it seemed hopeless, Harry stood ready with the sword. The Hat _had_ to have given it to Harry for a reason. Maybe, just maybe, this was the one thing that could beat the Basilisk. Harry raised the sword as the Basilisk lunged wildly. Harry threw his whole weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof of the serpent's mouth.

But as warm blood drenched Harry's arms, he felt a searing pain just above his elbow. One long, poisonous was sinking deeper and deeper into his arm. It splintered and stayed in Harry's arm as the Basilisk keeled over sideways, twitching, to the floor.

Harry slid down the wall, wrenched the fang out of his arm, but he knew it was too late. The venom was already rushing through his veins, his wound felt white-hot. Riddle's gloating was fading into the background, Fawkes was crying on his wound and Snape's hopeful expression…

-Wait, Snape's hopeful expression? He was _dying_ here, why was the man happy? There was a surge of tired righteous anger within him, but he didn't have the energy. Riddle's voice was still gloating in the distance. A pearly patch of tears was shining all around the wound – except that there _was_ no wound, and the world was slowly coming back into focus.

"Phoenix tears …" whispered Harry. "Of course … healing powers … I forgot …"

"Glad to see you've learned _something_ this year, Potter," said Snape wryly, a triumphant expression on his face.

In a rush of wings, Fawkes soared back overhead and something fell into Harry's lap – _the diary_. For a split second, Harry, Riddle and Snape stared at it. Then, without thinking, without considering, as though he had meant to do it all along, Harry seized the Basilisk fang on the floor next to him and plunged it straight into the heart of the book.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spplurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry's hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing, he reached out towards Harry in anger and rage and then…

He had gone. There was silence except for the steady _drip drip drip_ of the ink still oozing from the diary. The Basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it.

"Thanks Fawkes," he muttered.

Snape helped Harry up, who was shaking all over. His head was still spinning as if he'd just travelled miles by Floo Powder. Checking he could hold himself upright, Snape left Harry to gather up the Sorting Hat and make sure Fawkes was OK as he retrieved the sword from the roof of the Basilisk's mouth. Snorting, he showed it to Harry, because etched on it, just below the hilt, were the words, _Godric Gryffindor_. Snape gave a smile that could almost be described as _fond_ as he called Harry an "Incurable Gryffindor." Harry was spared having to reply by the sound of Ginny stirring at the end of the Chamber, and together Harry, Ginny, Snape and Fawkes headed back to Professor Dumbledore's office.

A/N – _So that was the Chambers fight. Please review! I'm not sure I did it well: should Snape have played more of an active role in the fight? I still wanted to make it mostly Harry's fight, but did it become unbelievable that that twelve year old Harry should somehow do better than Snape? _


	20. Chapter 20

Harry, Ginny and Snape walked to Dumbledore's office. Harry awkwardly patted Ginny on the arm, trying to comfort her, but he wasn't sure she was paying any attention to him. Snape was walking ahead, cloak, as usual, billowing out behind. Fawkes led the way, glowing gold along the corridor. They eventually found themselves at Professor Dumbledore's office. Snape, lips curling only slightly (a record for him) muttered the password - "Cockroach Cluster."

For a moment there was silence as Harry, Ginny, and Snape stood in the doorway covered in slime and blood. Then there was a scream.

"_Ginny!_"

It was Mrs Weasley who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr Weasley, who both flung themselves on their daughter.

Harry, however, was looking past them. Professor Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor McGonagall. Harry felt a sort of smug pride that, for once in her life, Professor McGonagall seemed to look taken aback and did not know how to deal with them. Dumbledore, as usual, looked as if he knew a great deal more than anybody else about what had happened.

Fawkes went gliding past Harry's ear and settled on Dumbledore's shoulder, just as Harry found himself being swept into Mrs Weasley's tight embrace (actually quite painful when one was still suffering the after affects of fighting a Basilisk). "You saved her! You saved her! _How_ did you do it?" she cried. It didn't pass Harry's notice that Mrs Weasley ignored Snape, and neither did it pass Snape's. Snape stayed silent at this exclusion, but his sneer returned. Mr Weasley, who had been standing behind his wife, seemed to have noticed this and he held out his hand to Snape, who shook it, the sneer disappearing.

Mrs Weasley let go of Harry. A flicker of a smile passed across Harry's face as he imagined Mrs Weasley sweeping Snape up in one of her trademark engulfing hugs. He walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the ruby encrusted sword and what remained of Riddle's diary.

Then he started he started talking (though he left out certain elements, like the brewing of the Polyjuice Potion – for all that it might have saved people's lives, Snape still would have killed him for stealing his supplies).

For the first quarter of an hour he spoke alone: he told them about hearing the disembodied voice that nobody else could hear. How Hermione had finally realised that he was hearing a Basilisk in the pipes; how he and Ron had followed the spiders into the Forest; that Aragog had told them where the last victim of the Basilisk had died; how he had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been that victim, and the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom…

"Very well," Professor McGonagall prompted him when he paused. Her voice was as stern as always, though it held that note of pride it always held when he had done something against the rules that she was proud of. He had become an expert at picking out in his time at Hogwarts. Professor Snape, on the other hand, looked as if he didn't know whether to wring his neck or congratulate him.

"Very well, so you found where the entrance was – breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add – but how _earth_ did you all get out of there alive, Potter?"

So Harry, with regular interjections from Snape, which Harry was secretly quite glad for as it meant he did not have to talk so much, told them about Fawkes' timely arrival and about the Sorting Hat giving him the sword. He told them how he and Snape had eventually brought the great creature down and how Harry had used the Basilisk fang to destroy the diary. Harry told them how he had been bitten ("Oh _Harry!_" Mrs Weasley cried again, and even Professor McGonagall looked slightly sick) and how Fawkes had saved his life.

Instinctively he looked at Professor Dumbledore, who smiled faintly, the firelight glancing of his half moon spectacles. He had so far mentioned Ginny as little as often – he didn't want to get her into trouble – but he had to tell them what happened. Ginny herself was standing with her head against Mrs Weasley's shoulder, and tears were still coursing silently down her cheeks. _What if they expelled her?_ Harry thought in panic: Riddle's diary didn't work anymore, there was no proof that she had been made to open the Chamber, that she hadn't had a choice.

"What interests _me_ most," said Professor Dumbledore gently, "is how Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently hiding in the forests of Albania."

"It was the diary," Harry replied quickly, picking it up and showing it to Dumbledore. "He managed to manipulate Ginny into trusting him, and so she started writing to him. Ginny didn't know because he used the name he had when he wrote it – Tom Riddle."

Dumbledore took the diary and peered at the keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages, his long, thin fingers stroking the pages. "Brilliant," he said softly. "Of course, he probably was one of the most brilliant students Hogwarts has ever seen. Of course, this … if I had known."

Ginny's tears had been steadily growing once more. Dumbledore looked at her kindly, "Miss Weasley should go to the Hospital Wing straight away," Dumbore said in a firm voice. "This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and Wiser wizards and witches have been hoodwinked and charmed by Voldemort. You should not be ashamed." He strode over to the door and opened it. Mrs Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr Weasley followed, still looking deeply shaken. "I suggest you go straight to the Hospital Wing. You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She is just giving out the Mandrake juice – I dare say the Basilisk's victims will be waking momentarily."

"So Hermione's OK!" said Harry, relieved.

"There has been no lasting harm done," confirmed Dumbledore. "Though, as I believe your friend, Mr Weasley pointed out, the same may not be said when she realises how much school she has missed. You know, Minerva, I think all merits a good _feast_. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?"

"Right," said Professor McGonagall crisply, also moving to the door.

"Severus, I recommend you get some rest, at the very least. I would like a few more words with Harry." Snape nodded curtly and excited, his cloak billowing. As soon as he had left Dumbledore turned and stepped into his fire, which blazed even brighter before dying down, taking Dumbledore with it and leaving a very confused Harry behind.

After about five minutes Professor Dumbledore returned practically dragging a very tired and perplexed looking Remus and Sirius. As soon as the saw Harry, however, looking as tired, beaten and as covered in blood as he did, they woke up immediately and rushed over to him. "Oh Harry," said Remus. "What have you done _this_ time you silly boy?"

Harry once again looked at the Headmaster pleadingly – he was too tired to go through the entire story once more. Dumbledore obliged and gave the, admittedly shortened version, to Sirius and Remus. Sirius's expression flashed back and forth between pride and worry throughout Dumbledore's story. Meanwhile, Harry allowed himself to fall half asleep, leaning against Sirius's shoulder, Dumbledore's calming voice washing over him.

Harry began to wake up when he heard the conversation move on from Harry's adventure down the Chamber.

"We're going to have to get a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore was saying. "It's Hogwarts policy, we've received a certain number of complaints, and so, unfortunately, he has to go."

"About time too," growled Sirius. "From what I've been hearing about him in Harry's letters."

"Do you have any ideas for a replacement, Professor?" said Remus politely before Dumbleore could react to Sirius's rudeness.

"One or two," replied Dumbledore, his eyes giving their trademark twinkle and Harry got the impression that he had quite a few more ideas than he was letting on. He gave a great sigh, his eyes suddenly graver then they were before, "Remus, Sirius," he said, "I must ask you to leave now – it is too dangerous for you to be seen here. Harry, you need feed and rest. I suggest you go down to the feast while I write to Azkaban – we need out Gamekeeper back." Harry said his goodbyes to Remus and Sirius. Sirius looked rebellious at being parted from Harry so soon, but in truth Harry was glad – he always enjoyed the Hogwarts feasts and he wanted to catch up with his friends and make sure they were all right. Harry also wanted a rest – something he was sure that, although Harry was sure Sirius had the best intentions in mind; Harry would not get with Sirius fussing over him.

Harry got up and crossed to the door. It soon became clear that Remus and Sirius had only gotten out in time, as before he could open the door, Lucius Malfoy came bursting through it, cold fury etched onto his aristocratic face. The oddest thing, however, was that Dobby cowering behind: normally, in the pure-blood societies that the Malfoys belonged to, although having a house-elf was a status symbol, actually letting them be seem was a disgrace.

"Good evening, Lucius," said Dumbledore pleasantly, as if people stormed into his office all the time.

This seemed to; if it were possible, make Malfoy's expression even angrier. He almost knocked Harry over as he swept into the room. Dobby went scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face, although he did give Harry what he could almost call an apologetic look. "So!" said Malfoy, his cold eyes fixed on Dumbledore. "You've come back. The governors suspended you and yet you saw fit to return to Hogwarts."

"Well, you see, Lucius," said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, "the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls to tell you the truth. They heard that the Weasley's daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too. Several of them seemed to think that you threatened to curse their families if they didn't agree to suspend me in the first place."

Malfoy turned even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury. "So – have you stopped the attacks yet?" he sneered. "Have you caught the culprit?"

"No," said Dumbledore, and Harry found himself wondering how he maintained his serene smile for so long. Malfoy smirked in triumph and Harry was sure he was about to berate Dumbledore for his supposed lack of success. Malfoy was stopped in his tracks by Dumbledore saying cheerfully, "That particular honour lies with Mr Potter here."

Malfoy shot Harry a swift, sharp look, before turning back to Dumbledore. "_Well?_" he grinded out. "Who is it?"

"The same person as last time, Lucius," said Dumbledore, his voice as calm and as even as ever, but now Dumbledore's voice contained a hint of steel. "But this time Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary." He held up the small black book with the large hole through the centre, watching Malfoy closely. Harry, however, was watching Dobby.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great tennis ball eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

"I see …" said Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.

"A clever plan," said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Malfoy straight in the eye. "Because if Harry here _hadn't_ discovered the book, why – Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn't acted of her own free will …"

Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly mask-like.

"And imagine," Dumbledore went on, "what might have happened then … The Weasleys are one of out most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley's Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and killing Muggle-borns. Very fortunate the diary was discovered, don't you think, Lucius. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise …"

Malfoy forced himself to speak. "Very fortunate," he said, stiffly.

And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Malfoy, then punching himself in the head. He seemed to grow more dazed each time and Harry was getting worried he would not work out the message in time.

And then suddenly Harry understood. He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment. "Don't you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr Malfoy," said Harry.

Malfoy rounded on him. "How should I know how that stupid little girl got hold of it?"

"Because you gave it to her," said Harry.

Malfoy's white hands clenched and unclenched. He leant down so he was face to face with Harry. "Prove it," he hissed.

"Oh, no one will be able to do that," said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry. "Not now Riddle is gone from the diary. I would, however, advise you to refrain from handing out Lord Voldemort's old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you …"

Malfoy glared at Dumbledore. Neither of the two men was in any doubt that Dumbledore had just threatened Malfoy, but Malfoy was unable to do anything about it. Harry was sure that this was possibly the first time that this had happened to him and he had no idea how to handle it. Instead, Malfoy turned to Dobby. "We're going, Dobby!" he spat and wrenched open the door and kicked Dobby right through it.

As for Dobby, he was caught between euphoria and despair. Euphoria because The Master's evil plan had failed and Harry Potter was safe; despair because this no doubt meant he would be receiving the biggest and most painful beating he had ever received in his life.

Dobby was so lost in his thoughts that he missed most of what The Master and Harry Potter were saying to each other. He did, however, manage to catch a certain sock that was thrown by an irate Mr Malfoy. Dobby held up the sock like it was a priceless treasure, and then he felt a curious tingling sensation before the unmistakable feeling of the ties that bound him to the Malfoy family breaking.

Every memory of every beating came flooding to the elf then. Every insult. Every time he had worked his fingers to the bone and it still hadn't been good enough. Every threat. Every mark upon his back. It was also then that Dobby saw and heard his former Master threaten Harry Potter, his _saviour_, and for once in his life Dobby stood up for himself. Dobby was strong.

"You shall not harm Harry Potter!" He felt a malicious delight in throwing his former Master backwards. His former Master pulled out his wand, yet still Dobby stood, ready to do anything to protect _his_ Harry Potter. "You shall go now. You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now."

"Harry Potter freed Dobby!" said Dobby, gazing at Harry Potter. "Harry Potter set Dobby free!"

Dobby was delighted when Harry Potter's face burst into a grin. "Least I could do, Dobby," said Harry Potter. "Just promise never to try and save my life again."

The rest of the summer term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal, with only a few, small differences: Defence Against the Dark Arts classes were cancelled and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as school governor – although no one could link the diary to Malfoy, the governors whose families he had threatened made sure he was sacked anyway. Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky.

On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was looking a lot happier again, although Ron told him that she was seeing Healers who specialised in Possession over the summer. Ginny, apparently, was very annoyed by this, but Harry privately thought it had to be a good thing. After all, being possessed by Voldemort could hardly be good for your health; even if he was no longer possessing you – it had killed Quirrel after all.

Soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George and Ginny got a compartment to themselves. They played Exploding Snap, set off the very last of Fred and George's Filibuster Fireworks (Harry made a mental note to ask Sirius for a supply) and practised disarming each other by magic. Harry was getting very good at it.

Harry also found that, when she wasn't being ridiculously shy or suffering from the effects of mind manipulation by Riddle, Ginny was a fun girl to be around. She didn't seem a typical girl – interested in clothes and fashion. Harry supposed that might have had something to do with growing up in a house full of boys – she would have to be tough to survive. She also had a wicked sense of humour and a mischievous streak that reminded Harry of the twins. Harry also found out that all her older brothers were somewhat protective of her. Harry had a feeling that would only increase after her ordeal.

As they drew closer to King's Cross, Harry found himself growing more and more restless. As much he loved Hogwarts, with its winding staircases and secret passageways, with its classes that grew more interesting the more he learned. With its stone statues, ghosts and Quidditch, the thing he loved most in the world, as dysfunctional and cobbled together as it may be, was his family. And ever since they had rescued him from the Dursleys, he loved nothing more than to be with them.

A/N – So that's CoS finished! Personally I don't think this last chapter is that great but … meh. Maybe I'm just lazy, but it was the best I could do.

Anyway, in a few weeks time I'll be going to University (Both scared and excited – this'll be my first time properly away from home and everything, and I'm paranoid about not being able to keep up with the work) this'll mean that I won't be able to update nearly so often, but I will try to update as often as I can.

POA and Uni here I come!


End file.
